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ACTION FRONT 



ACTION FRONT 



BY 

BOYD CABLE 

AUTHOR OF "BETWEEN THE LINES' 




NEW YORK 
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

681 FIFTH AVENUE 



Jit 



Copyright, 1916, 
By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



JUN 28 1916 

Printed in the U. S. A. 

©CU433522 

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TO 

MR. J. A. SPENDER 

to whose recognition and appreciation of my work, 
and to whose instant and eager , hospitality in the 
"Westminster Gazette'''' so much of these war writings 
is due, this book is very gratefully dedicated by 

THE AUTHOR 



FOREWORD 

I make no apology for having followed in this 
book the same plan as in my other one, "Be- 
tween the Lines," of taking extracts from the 
official despatches as "texts" and endeavoring 
to show something of what these brief messages 
cover, because so many of my own friends, and 
so many more unknown friends amongst the 
reviewers, expressed themselves so pleased with 
the plan that I feel its repetition is justified. 

There were some who complained that my 
last book was in parts too grim and too terrible, 
and no doubt the same complaint may lie against 
this one. To that I can only reply that I have 
found it impossible to write with any truth of 
the Front without the writing being grim, and 
in writing my other book I felt it would be no 
bad thing if Home realized the grimness a little 
better. 

But now there are so many at Home whose 
nearest and dearest are in the trenches, and 
who require no telling of the horrors of the war, 
that I have tried here to show there is a lighter 
side to war, to let them know that we have our 
relaxations, and even find occasion for jests, in 
the course of our business. 



viii FOREWORD 

I believe, or at least hope, that in showing 
both sides of the picture I am doing what the 
Front would wish me to do. And I don't ask 
for any greater satisfaction than that. 

BOYD CABLE. 
May, 1916. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



In Enemy Hands 1 

A Benevolent Neutral 30 

Drill 61 

A Night Patrol 77 

As Others See 104 

The Fear of Fear 139 

Anti-Aircraft 163 

A Fragment 181 

An Open Town 195 

The Signalers 211 

Conscript Courage 235 

Smashing the Counter-Attack 249 

A General Action 261 

At Last 291 



ACTION FRONT 



ACTION FRONT 



IN ENEMY HANDS 

The last conscious thought in the mind of 
Private Jock Macalister as he reached the Ger- 
man trench was to get down into it; his next 
conscious thought to get out of it. Up there 
on the level there were uncomfortably many 
bullets, and even as he leaped on the low para- 
pet one of these struck the top of his fore- 
head, ran deflecting over the crown of his head, 
and away. He dropped limp as a pole-axed 
bullock, slid and rolled helplessly down into 
the trench. 

When he came to his senses he found him- 
self huddled in a corner against the traverse, 
his head smarting and a bruised elbow aching 
abominably. He lifted his head and groaned, 
and as the mists cleared from his dazed eyes 
he found himself looking into a fat and very 
dirty face and the ring of a rifle muzzle about 
a foot from his head. The German said some- 
thing which Macalister could not understand, 
but which he rightly interpreted as a com- 
mand not to move. But he could hear no sound 



2 ACTION FEONT 

of Scottish voices or of the uproar of hand- 
to-hand fighting in the trench. When he saw 
the Germans duck down hastily and squeeze 
close up against the wall of the trench, while 
overhead a string of shells crashed angrily 
and the shrapnel beat down in gusts across the 
trench, he diagnosed correctly that the assault 
had failed, and that the British gunners were 
again searching the German trench with shrap- 
nel. His German guard said something to the 
other men, and while one of them remained at 
the loophole and fired an occasional shot, the 
others drew close to their prisoner. The first 
thing they did was to search him, to turn each 
pocket outside-in, and when they had emptied 
these, carefully feel all over his body for any 
concealed article. Macalister bore it all with 
great philosophy, mildly satisfied that he had 
no money to lose and no personal property of 
any value. 

Their search concluded, the Germans held a 
short consultation, then one of them slipped 
round the corner of the traverse, and, return- 
ing a moment later, pointed the direction to 
Macalister and signed to him to go. 

The trench was boxed into small compart- 
ments by the traverses, and in the next section 
Macalister found three Germans waiting for 
him. One of them asked him something in 
German, and on Macalister shaking his head to 



IN ENEMY HANDS 3 

show that he did not understand, he was sig- 
naled to approach, and a German ran deftly 
through his pockets, fingering his waist, and, 
searching for a money-belt, made a short ex- 
clamation of disgust, and signed to the pris- 
oner to move on round the next traverse, at 
the same time shouting to the Germans there, 
and passing Macalister on at the bayonet 
point. This performance was repeated exactly 
in all its details through the next half-dozen 
traverses, the only exception being that in one 
an excitable German, making violent motions 
with a bayonet as he appeared round the cor- 
ner, insisted on his holding his hands over his 

head. 

At about the sixth traverse a German spoke 
to him in fairly good, although strongly ac- 
cented, English. He asked Macalister his rank 
and regiment, and Macalister, knowing that the 
name on his shoulder-straps would expose any 
attempt at deceit, gave these. Another man 
asked something in German, which apparently 
he requested the English speaker to translate. 
"He say," interpreted the other, "Why you 
English war have made!" Macalister stared 
at him. "I'm no English," he returned com- 
posedly. "I'm a Scot." 

"That the worse is," said the interpreter an- 
grily. "Why have it your business of the 
Scot?" 



4 ACTION FRONT 

Macalister knitted his brows over this. "You 
mean, I suppose, what business is it of ours? 
Well, it's just Scotland's a bit of Britain, so 
when Britain's at war, we are at war." 

A demand for an interpretation of this de- 
layed the proceedings a little, and then the 
English speaker returned to the attack. 

"For why haf Britain this war made!" he 
demanded. 

"We didna' make it," returned Macalister. 
* ' Germany began it. ' ' Excited comment on the 
translation. 

''If you'll just listen to me a minute," said 
Macalister deliberately, "I can prove I am 
right. Sir Edward Grey " Bursts of ex- 
clamation greeted the name, and Macalister 
grinned slightly. 

"You'll no be likin' him," he said. "An' I 
can weel understan' it." 

The questioner went off on a different line. 
"Haf your soldiers know," he asked, "that 
the German fleet every day a town of England 
bombard?" 

Macalister stared at him. 

"Havers!" he said abruptly. 

The German went on to impart a great deal 
of astonishing information — of the German ad- 
vance on Petrograd, the invasion of Egypt, the 
extermination of the Balkan Expedition, the 



IN ENEMY HANDS 5 

complete blockade of England, the decimation 
of the British fleet by submarines. 

After some vain attempts to argue the mat- 
ter and disprove the statements, Macalister 
resigned himself to contemptuous silence, only 
rousing when the German spoke of England and 
English, to correct him to Britain and British. 

When at last their interest flagged, the Ger- 
mans ordered him to move on. Macalister 
asked where he was going and what was to be 
done with him, and received the scant comfort 
that he was being sent along to an officer who 
would send him back as a prisoner, if he did 
not have him killed— as German prisoners were 
killed by the English. 

"British, you mean,'' Macalister corrected 
again. "And, besides that, it's a lie." 

He was told to go on; but as he moved he 
saw a foot-long piece of barbed wire lying in 
the trench bottom. He asked gravely whether 
he would be allowed to take it, and, receiving 
a somewhat puzzled and grudging assent, 
picked it up, carefully rolled it in a small coil, 
and placed it in a side jacket pocket. He de- 
rived immense gratification and enjoyment at 
the ensuing searches he had to undergo, and the 
explosive German that followed the diving of 
a hand into the barbed-wire pocket. 

He arrived at last at an officer and at a point 
where a communication trench entered the fir- 



6 ACTION FRONT 

ing trench. The officer in very mangled Eng- 
lish was attempting to extract some informa- 
tion, when he was interrupted by the arrival 
from the communication trench of a small party 
led by an officer, a person evidently of some 
importance, since the other officer sprang to 
attention, clicked his heels, saluted stiffly, and 
spoke in a tone of respectful humility. The new 
arrival was a young man in a surprisingly clean 
and beautifully fitting uniform, and wearing a 
helmet instead of the cloth cap commonly worn 
in the trenches. His face was not a particu- 
larly pleasant one, the eyes close set, hard, and 
cruel, the jaw thin and sharp, the mouth thin- 
lipped and shrewish. He spoke to Macalister 
in the most perfect English. 

" Well, swine-hound, ' ' he said, "have you any 
reason to give why I should not shoot you?" 

Macalister made no reply. He disliked ex- 
ceedingly the look of the new-comer, and had 
no wish to give an excuse for the punishment 
he suspected would result from the officer's dis- 
pleasure. But his silence did not save him. 

"Sulky, eh, my swine-hound ! ' ' said the of- 
ficer. ' l But I think we can improve those man- 
ners." 

He gave an order in German, and a couple 
of men stepped forward and placed their bayo- 
nets with the points touching Macalister 's 
chest. 



IN ENEMY HANDS 7 

"If you do not answer next time I speak," 
he said smoothly, "I will give one word that 
will pin you to the trench wall and leave you 
there. Do you understand ?" he snapped sud- 
denly and savagely. "You English dog." 

"I understand," said Macalister. "But I'm 
no English. I'm a Scot." 

The crashing of a shell and the whistling of 
the bullets overhead moved the officer, as it 
had the others, to a more sheltered place. He 
seated himself upon an ammunition-box, and 
pointed to the wall of the trench opposite him. 

"You," he said to Macalister, "will stand 
there, where you can get the benefit of any bul- 
lets that come over. I suppose you would just 
as soon be killed by an English bullet as by a 
German one." 

Macalister moved to the place indicated. 

"I'm no anxious," he said calmly, "to be 
killed by either a British or a German bullet." 

"Say 'sir' when you speak to me," roared 
the officer. ' ' Say ' sir. ' ' 9 

Macalister looked at him and said "Sir" — 
no more and no less. 

"Have you no discipline in your English 
army?" he demanded, and Macalister 's lips 
silently formed the words "British Army." 
"Are you not taught to say 'sir' to an officer!" 

"Yes — sir; we say 'sir' to any officer and 
any gentleman." 



8 ACTION FEONT 

' * So, ' ' said the officer, an evil smile upon his 
thin lips. "You hint, I suppose, that I am not 
a gentleman? We shall see. But first, as you 
appear to be an insubordinate dog, we had bet- 
ter tie your hands up." 

He gave an order, and after some little 
trouble to find a cord, Macalister 's hands were 
lashed behind his back with the bandage from 
a field-dressing. The officer inspected the tying 
when it was completed, spoke angrily to the 
cringing men, and made them unfasten and re- 
tie the lashing as tightly as they could draw it. 

"And now," said the officer, "we shall con- 
tinue our little conversation ; but first you shall 
beg my pardon for that hint about a gentleman. 
Do you hear me — beg, ' ' he snarled, as Macalis- 
ter made no reply. 

"If Fve said anything you're no likin' and 
that I'm sorry for masel', I apologize," he 
said. 

The officer glared at him with narrowed eyes. 
< ' That '11 not do, ' ' he said coldly. < < When I say 
'beg' you'll beg, and you will go on your knees 
to beg. Do you hear? Kneel!" 

Macalister stood rigid. At a word, two of 
the soldiers placed themselves in position 
again, with their bayonets at the prisoner's 
breast. The officer spoke to the men, and then 
to Macalister. 



IN ENEMY HANDS 9 

"Now," he said, "you will kneel, or they will 
thrust you through." 

Macalister stood without a sign of move- 
ment; but behind his back his hands were 
straining furiously at the lashings upon his 
wrist. They stretched and gave ever so little, 
and he worked on at them with a desperate 
hope dawning in his heart. 

' < Still obstinate, ' ' sneered the officer. l ' Well, 
it is rather early to. kill you yet, so we must 
find some other way." 

At a sentence from him one of the men threw 
his weight on the prisoner's shoulders, while 
the other struck him savagely across the ten- 
dons behind the knees. Whether he would or 
no, his knees had to give, and Macalister 
dropped to them. But he was not beaten yet. 
He simply allowed himself to collapse, and fell 
over on his side. The officer cursed angrily, 
commanding him to rise to his knees again; the 
men kicked him and pricked him with their 
bayonet points, hauled him at last to his knees, 
and held him there by main force. 

"And now you will beg my pardon," the of- 
ficer continued. Macalister said nothing, but 
continued to stretch at his bonds and twist 
gently with his hands and wrists. 

The officer spent the next ten minutes trying 
to force his prisoner to beg his pardon. They 
were long and humiliating and painful minutes 



10 ACTION FEONT 

for Macalister, but lie endured them doggedly 
and in silence. The officer's temper rose min- 
ute by minute. The forward wall of the firing 
trench was built up with wicker-work facings, 
and the officer drew out a thick switch. 

"You will speak," he said, "or I shall flay 
you in strips and then shoot you." 

Macalister said nothing, and was slashed so 
heavily across the face that the stick broke in 
the striker's hands. The blood rose to his head, 
and deep in his heart he prayed, prayed only 
for ten seconds with his hands loose ; but still 
he did not speak. 

At the end of ten minutes the officer's pa- 
tience was exhausted. Macalister was thrust 
back against the trench wall, and the officer 
drew out a pistol. 

"In five minutes from now," he gritted, 
"I'm going to shoot you. I give you the five 
minutes that you may enjoy some pleasant 
thoughts in the interval." 

Macalister made no answer, but worked in- 
dustriously at the lashings on his wrists. The 
bandage stretched and loosened, and at last, at 
long last, he succeeded in slipping one turn off 
his hand. He had no hope now for anything 
but death, and the only wish left to him in life 
was to get his hands free to wreak vengeance 
on the dapper little monster opposite him, to 
die with his hands free and fighting. 



IN ENEMY HANDS 11 

The minutes slipped one by one, and one by- 
one the loosened turns of the bandage were 
uncoiled. The trenches at this point were ap- 
parently very close, for Macalister could hear 
the crack of the British rifles, the clack-clack- 
clack of a machine gun at close range, and the 
thought flitted through his mind that over there 
in his own trenches his own fellows would hear 
presently the crack of the officer's pistol with 
no understanding of what it meant. But with 
luck and his loosened hands he would give them 
a squeal or two to listen to as well. 

Then the officer spoke. "One minute,' ' he 
said, "and then I fire.'' He lifted his pistol 
and pointed it straight at Macalister 's face. 
"I am not bandaging your eyes," went on the 
officer, "because I want you to look into this 
little round, round hole, and wait to see the 
fire spout out of it at you. Your minute is al- 
most up . . . you can watch my finger press- 
ing on the trigger." 

The last coil slipped off Macalister 's wrist; 
he was free, but with a curse he knew it to be 
too late. A movement of his hands from be- 
hind his back would finish the pressure of that 
finger, and finish him. Desperately he sought 
for a fighting chance. 

"I would like to ask," he muttered hoarsely, 
licking his dry lips, "will ye no kill me if I say 
what ye wanted!" 



12 ACTION FRONT 

Keenly he watched that finger about the trig- 
ger, breathed silent relief as he saw it slacken, 
and watched the muzzle drop slowly from the 
level of his eyes. But it was still held pointed 
at him, and that barely gave him the chance he 
longed for. Only let the muzzle leave him for 
an instant, and he would ask no more. The 
officer was a small and slightly made man, 
Macalister. tall and broadly built, big almost to 
hugeness and strong as a Highland bull. 

"So," said the officer softly, "your Scottish 
courage flinches then, from dying?" 

While he spoke, and in the interval before 
answering him, Macalister 's mind was running 
feverishly over the quickest and surest plan of 
action. If he could get one hand on the officer's 
wrist, and the other on his pistol, he could finish 
the officer and perhaps get off another round or 
two before he was done himself. But the pistol 
hand might evade his grasp, and there would be 
brief time to struggle for it with those bayo- 
nets within arm's length. A straight blow from 
the shoulder would stun, but it might not kill. 
Plan after plan flashed through his mind, and 
was in turn set aside in search of a better. But 
he had to speak. 

"It's no just that I'm afraid," he said very 
slowly. "But it was just some thin' I thought 
I might tell ye." 

The pistol muzzle dropped another inch or 



IN ENEMY HANDS 13 

two, with Macalister 's eye watching its every 
quiver. His words brought to the officer's 
mind something that in his rage he had quite 
overlooked. 

"If there is anything you can tell me," he 
said, "any useful information you can give of 
where your regiment's headquarters are in the 
trenches, or where there are any batteries 
placed, I might still spare your life. But you 
must be quick," he added "for it sounds as if 
another attack is coming." 

It was true that the fire of the British artil- 
lery had increased heavily during the last few 
minutes. It was booming and bellowing now in 
a deep, thunderous roar, the shells were 
streaming and rushing overhead, and shrapnel 
was crashing and hailing and pattering down 
along the parapet of the forward trench; the 
heavy boom of big shells bursting somewhere 
behind the forward line and the roaring explo- 
sion of trench mortar bombs about the forward 
trench set the ground quivering and shaking. 
A shell burst close overhead, and involuntarily 
Macalister glanced up, only to curse himself 
next moment for missing a chance that his 
captor offered by a similar momentary lifting 
of his eyes. Macalister set his eyes on the 
other, determined that no such chance should 
be missed again. 

But now, above the thunder of the artillery 



14 ACTION FEONT 

and of the bursting shells, they could hear the 
sound of rising rifle-fire. The officer must have 
glimpsed the hope in Macalister's face, and, 
with an oath, he brought the pistol up level 
again. 

' ' Do not cheat yourself, ' ' he said. ' ' You can- 
not escape. If a charge comes I shall shoot you 
first." 

With a sinking heart Macalister saw that his 
last slender hope was gone. He could only pray 
that for the moment no attack was to be 
launched ; but then, just when it seemed that the 
tide of hope was at its lowest ebb, the fates 
flung him another chance — a chance that for 
the moment looked like no chance; looked, in- 
deed, like a certainty of sudden death. A soft, 
whistling hiss sounded in the air above them, a 
note different from the shrill whine and buzz 
of bullets, the harsh rush and shriek of the 
shells. The next instant a dark object fell with 
a swoosh and thump in the bottom of the 
trench, rolled a little and lay still, spitting a jet 
of fizzing sparks and wreathing smoke. 

When a live bomb falls in a narrow trench 
it is almost certain that everyone in that im- 
mediate section will at the worst die suddenly, 
at the best be badly wounded. Sometimes a 
bomb may be picked up and thrown clear be- 
fore it can burst, but the man who picks it up 
is throwing away such chance as he has of be- 



IN ENEMY HANDS 15 

ing only wounded for the smaller chance of 
having time to pitch the bomb clear. The first 
instinct of every man is to remove himself from 
that particular traverse; the teaching of ex- 
perience ought to make him throw himself flat 
on the ground, since by far the greater part of 
the force and fragments from the explosion 
clear the ground by a foot or two. Of the Ger- 
mans in this particular section of trench some 
followed one plan, some the other. Of the two 
men guarding the prisoner the one who was 
near the corner of the traverse leapt round it, 
the other whirled himself round behind Mac- 
alister and crouched sheltering behind his 
body. Two men near the corner of the other 
traverse disappeared round it, two more flung 
themselves violently on their faces, and an- 
other leapt into the opening of the communi- 
cation trench. The officer, without hesitation, 
dropped on his face, his head pressed close be- 
hind the sandbag on which he had been sit- 
ting. 

The whole of these movements happened, of 
course, in the twinkling of an eye. Macalister's 
thoughts had been so full of his plans for the 
destruction of the officer that the advent of the 
bomb merely switched these plans in a new di- 
rection. His first realized thought was of the 
man crouching beside and clinging to him, the 
quick following instinct to free himself of this 



16 ACTION FRONT 

check to his movements. He was still on his 
knees, with the man on his left side; without 
attempting to rise he twisted round and back- 
wards, and drove his fist full force in the 
other's face; the man's head crashed back 
against the trench wall, and his limp body col- 
lapsed and rolled sideways. His mind still run- 
ning in the groove of his set purpose, before 
his captor's relaxed fingers had well loosed 
their grip, Macalister hurled himself across the 
trench and fastened his ferocious grip on the 
body of the officer. He rose to his feet, "if ting 
the man with a jerking wrench, and swung him 
round. The swift idea had come to him that 
by hurling the officer's body on top of the bomb, 
and holding him there, he would at least make 
sure of his vengeance, might even escape him- 
self the fragments and full force of the shock. 
Even in the midst of the swing he checked, 
glanced once at the spitting fuse, and with a 
stoop and a heave flung the officer out over the 
front parapet, leaped on the firing step, and 
hurled himself over after him. 

It must be remembered that the burning fuse 
of a bomb gives no indication of the length that 
remains to burn before it explodes the charge. 
The fuse looks like a short length of thin black 
rope, its outer cover does not burn and the 
same stream of sparks and smoke pours from 
its end in the burning of the first inch and of 



IN ENEMY HANDS 17 

the last. There was nothing, then, to show 
Macalister whether the explosion would come 
before his quick muscles could complete their 
movement, or whether long seconds would 
elapse before the bomb burst. It was an even 
chance either way, so he took the one that gave 
him most. Fortune favored him, and the roar 
of the explosion followed his flying heels over 
the parapet. 

The officer, dazed, shaken, and not yet re- 
alizing what had happened, had gathered 
neither his wits nor his limbs to rise when 
Macalister leaped down almost on top of him. 
The officer's hand still clung to the pistol he 
had held, but Macalister 's grasp swooped and 
clutched and wrenched the weapon away. 

"Get up, my man," he said grimly. "Get 
up, or I'll blow a hole in ye as ye lie." 

He added emphasis with the point of the pis- 
tol in the other's ribs, and the officer staggered 
to his feet. 

"Now," said Macalister, "you'll quick 
mairch — that way." He waved the pistol 
towards the British trench. 

The officer hesitated. 

"It is no good," he said sullenly. "I should 
be killed a dozen times before I got across." 

"That's as may be," said Macalister coolly. 
"But if you don't go you'll get your first kill- 



18 ACTION FEONT 

ing here, and say naething o' the rest o' the 
dizen. ' ' 

A shell cracked overhead, and the shrapnel 
ripped down along the trench behind them with 
a storm of bullets thudding into the ground 
about their feet. 

"I will make you an offer," said the officer 
hurriedly. "You can go your way and leave 
me to go mine. ,, 

"You'll mak' an offer!" said Macalister con- 
temptuously. "Here" — and he waved the pis- 
tol across the open again. "Get along there." 

"I will give you " the officer began, 

when Macalister broke in abruptly. 

"This is no a debatin' society," he said. 
"But ye '11 no walk ye maun just drive." 

Without further words he thrust the pistol 
in his pocket, grabbed and took one handful of 
coat at the back of the officer's neck and an- 
other at the skirt, and commenced to thrust 
him before him across the open ground. But 
the officer refused to walk, and would have 
thrown himself down if Macalister 's grasp had 
not prevented it. 

"Ye would, would ye?" growled the Scot, 
and seized his captive by the shoulders and 
shook him till his teeth rattled. "Now," he 

said angrily, "ye '11 come wi' me or " he 

broke off to fling a gigantic arm about the of- 
ficer's neck — "or I'll pull the heid aff ye." 



IN ENEMY HANDS 19 

So it was that the occupants of the British 
trench viewed presently the figure of a huge 
Highlander appearing through the drifting 
haze and smoke at a trot, a head clutched close 
to his side hy a circling arm, a struggling Ger- 
man half-running, half-dragging behind his 
captor. 

Arrived at the parapet, "Here," shoutfed 
Macalister. "Catch, some o' ye." He jerked 
his prisoner forward and thrust him over and 
into the trench, and leaped in after him. 

It was purely on impulse that Private Mac- 
alister flung his prisoner out of the German 
trench, but it was a set and reasoned purpose 
that made him drag his struggling captive back 
over the open to the British trench. He knew 
that the British line would not shoot at an 
obvious kilted Highlander, and he supposed 
that the Germans would hesitate to fire on one 
dragging an equally obvious German officer be- 
hind him. Either his reasoning or his blind 
luck held true, and both he and his captive tum- 
bled over into the British trench unhurt. An 
officer appeared, and Macalister explained 
briefly to him what had happened. 

"You'd better take him back with you," said 
the officer when he had finished, and glanced at 
the German. "He's not likely to make trouble, 
I suppose, but there are plenty of spare rifles, 
and you had better take one. "What's left of 



20 ACTION FEONT 

your battalion has withdrawn to the support 
trench." 

"I am an officer," said the German suddenly 
to the British subaltern; "I surrender myself 
to you, and demand to be treated as an honor- 
able prisoner of war. I do not wish to be left 
in this man's hands." 

"Wish this and wish that," said Macalister, 
"and much good may your wishing do. Ye've 
heard what this officer said, so rise and mairch, 
unless ye wad raither I took ye further like I 
brocht ye here." And he moved as if to scoop 
the German's head under his arm again. 

"I will not," said the German furiously, and 
turned again to the subaltern. "I tell you I 
surrender " 

"There's no need for you to surrender," 
said the subaltern quietly. "I might remind 
you that you are already a prisoner; and I am 
not here to look after prisoners." 

The German yielded with a very bad grace, 
and moved ahead of Macalister and his threat- 
ening bayonet, along the line and down the 
communication trench to the support trench. 
Here the Scot found his fellows, and introduced 
his prisoner, made his report to an officer, and 
asked and received permission to remain on 
guard over his captive. Then he returned to 
the corner of the trench where the remains of 
his own company were. He told them how he 



IN ENEMY HANDS 21 

had fallen into the German trench and what 
had happened up to the moment the German 
officer came into the proceedings. 

"This is the man," he said, nodding his head 
towards the officer, * ' and I wad just like to tell 
you carefully and exactly what happened be- 
tween him an' me. Yell understaun' better if 
a' show ye as weel as tell ye. Weel, now, he 
made twa men tie ma' hands behind ma' back 
first — if ony o' ye will lend me a first field 
dressing I'll show ye how they did it." 

A field dressing was promptly forthcoming, 
and Macalister bound the German's hands be- 
hind his back, overcoming a slight attempt at 
resistance by a warning word and an accom- 
panying sharp twist on his arms. 

"It's maybe no just as tight as mine was," 
said Macalister when he had finished, and stood 
the prisoner back against the wall. "But it'll 
dae. Then he made twa men stand wi' fixed 
bayonets against ma ' breast, and when I hinted 
what was true, that he was no gentleman, he 
said I was to kneel and beg his pardon. And 
now you," he said, nodding to the prisoner, 
"will go down on your marrow-bones and beg 
mine. ' ' 

"That is sufficient of this fooling," said the 
officer, with an attempt at bravado. "It's your 
turn, I'll admit; but I will pay you well " 

Macalister interrupted him. "Ye '11 maybe 



22 ACTION FRONT 

think it's a bit mair than fooling ere I'm done 
wi' ye," he said. "But speakin' o' pay . . . 
and thank ye for reminding me. Ower there 
they riped ma pooches, an' took a 'thing I 
had." 

He stepped over to the prisoner, went ex- 
peditiously through his pockets, removed the 
contents, and transferred them to his own. 

"I'm no saying but what I've got mair than 
I lost," he admitted to the others, who stood 
round gravely watching and thoroughly en- 
joying the proceedings. "But then they took 
all I had, an' I'm only taking all he has." 

He pulled a couple of sandbags off the para- 
pet and seated himself on them. 

"To go on wi' this begging pardon busi- 
ness," he said. "If a couple o' ye will just 
stand ower him wi' your fixed bayonets. . . . 
Thank ye. I wouldna' kneel," he continued, 
"so one o' them put his weight on my shoul- 
ders — -" He looked at one of the guards, who, 
entering promptly into the spirit of the play, 
put his massive weight on the German's shoul- 
ders, and looked to Macalister for further in- 
structions. 

"Then," said Macalister, "the ither guard 
gave me a swipe across the back o' the knees." 

The "swipe" followed quickly and neatly, 
and the German went down with a jerk. 

"That's it exactly," said Macalister, with a 



IN ENEMY HANDS 23 

pleasantly reminiscent smile. The German's 
temper broke, and he spat forth a torrent of 
abuse in mixed English and German. 

Macalister listened a moment. "I said noth- 
ing; so I think he shouldna' be allowed to say 
anything," he remarked judicially. His com- 
ment met with emphatic approval from his lis- 
teners. 

"I think I could gag him," said one of his 
guards; "or if ye preferred it I could just 
throttle his windpipe a wee bit, just enough to 
stop his tongue and no to hurt him much." 

With an effort the German regained his con- 
trol. "There is no need," he said sullenly; 
"I shall be silent." 

"Weel," resumed Macalister, "there was a 
bit o' chaff back and forrit between us, and 
next thing he did was to slap me across the 
face wi' his hand. Do ye think," he appealed 
to his audience, "it would brak' his jaw if I 
gave him a bit lick across it?" 

He advanced a huge hand for inspection, and 
listened to the free advice given to try it, and 
the earnest assurances that it did not matter 
much if the jaw did break. 

"Ye '11 feenish him off presently onyway, I 
suppose?" said one, and winked at Macalister. 

"Just bide a wee," answered Macalister, 
"I'm coming to that. I think maybe I'll no 



24 ACTION FEONT 

brak his jaw, for fair's fair, and I want to give 
as near as I can to what I got." 

He leant forward and dealt a mild bnt tin- 
gling slap on the German's cheek. 

"I think," he went on, "the next thing I 
got was a slash wi' a bit switch he pulled out 
from the trench wall. We've no sticks like it 
here, so I maun just do the best I can instead." 

He leant forward and fastened a huge hand 
on the prisoner's coat-collar, jerked him to 
him, and, despite his frantic struggles and rag- 
ing tongue, placed him face down across his 
knees and administered punishment. 

"I think that's about enough," he said, and 
returned the choking and spluttering prisoner 
to his place between the guards. 

"He kept me," he said, "on my knees, so I 
think he ought . . . thank ye," as the German 
went down again none too gently. "After that 
he went on saying some things it would be 
waste o' time to repeat. Swine dog was about 
the prettiest name he had any use for. But 
there was another thing he did; ye '11 see some 
muck on my face and on my jacket. It came 
there like this ; he took hold o ' me by the hair 
— this way." And Macalister proceeded to 
demonstrate as he explained. 

1 i Then — my hands being tied behind my back 
you will remember, like this — it was easy enough 
for him to pull me over on my face — like this 



IN ENEMY HANDS 25 

. . . and rub my face in the mud. . . . The 
bottom o J this trench is in no such a state o' 
filth as theirs, but it'll just have to do." He 
hoisted the German back to his knees. "Then 
I think it was after that the pistol and the kill- 
ing bit came in. ' ' And Macalister put his hand 
to his pocket and drew out the officer's pistol 
which he had thrust there. 

"He gave me five minutes, so 111 give him 
the same. Has ony o' ye a watch ?" 

A timekeeper stepped forward out of the lit- 
tle knot of spectators that crowded the trench, 
and Macalister requested him to notify them 
when only one minute of the five was left. 

"My manny here was good enough," said 
Macalister, "to tell me he wouldna' bandage my 
eyes, because he wanted me to look down the 
muzzle of his pistol; so now," turning to the 
prisoner, "you can watch my finger pulling the 
trigger. ' ' 

As the four minutes ebbed, the German's 
courage ran out with them. The jokes and 
laughter about him had ceased. Macalister 's 
face was set and savage, and there was a cold, 
hard look in his eye, a stern ferocity on his 
mud and bloodstained face that convinced the 
German the end of the five minutes would also 
surely see his end. 

' ' One minute to go, ' ' said the timekeeper. A 
sigh of indrawn breaths ran round the circle, 



26 ACTION FRONT 

and then tense silence. Outside the trench they 
were in the roar of the guns boomed unceas- 
ingly, the shells whooped and screamed over- 
head, and from out in front came the crackle 
and roar of rifle-fire ; and yet, despite the noise, 
the trench appeared still and silent. Macalis- 
ter noted that, as he had noted it over there in 
the German trench. 

"Time's up," said the man with the watch. 
The German, looking straight at the pistol muz- 
zle and the cold eye behind the sights, gasped 
and closed his eyes. The silence held, and after 
a dragging minute the German opened his 
eyes, to find the pistol lowered but still pointing 
at him. 

"To make it right and fair," said Macalis- 
ter, "his hands should be loose, because I had 
managed to loose mine. Will one o' ye . . . 
thank ye. It's no easy," continued Macalister, 
"to just fit the rest o' the program in, seeing 
that it was here a bomb fell in the trench, an' 
his men bein' weel occupied gettin' oot o' its 
way, I threw him ower the parapet and dragged 
him across to oor lines. Maybe ye'd like to 
try and throw me out the same way." 

The German was perhaps a brave enough 
man, but the ordeal of those last five minutes 
especially had brought his nerve to near its 
breaking strain. His lips twitched and quiv- 
ered, his jaw hung slack, and at Macalister 's 



IN ENEMY HANDS 27 

invitation he tittered hysterically. There was 
a stir and a movement at the back of the spec- 
tators that by now thronged the trench, and an 
officer pushed his way through. 

" What's this!" he said. "Oh, yes! the 
prisoner. Well, you fellows might have more 
sense than heap yourselves up in a crowd like 
this. One solitary Krupp dropping in here, 
and we'd have a pretty-looking mess. Open 
out along the trench there, and keep low 
down. You can be ready to move in a few 
minutes now; we are being relieved here and 
are going further back. Now what about this 
prisoner? Who is looking after him?" 

"I am, sir," said Macalister. "The Cap- 
tain said I was to take him back." 

"Eight," said the subaltern. "You can take 
him with you when you go. TheyVe got some 
more prisoners up the line, and you can join 
them." 

It was here that the episode ended So far as 
Macalister was concerned, <and his relations 
with the German officer thereafter were of the 
purely official nature of a prisoner's guard. 
There were some other indignities, but in these 
Macalister had no hand. They were probably 
due to the circulation of the tale Macalister 
had told and demonstrated, and were altogether 
above and beyond anything that usually hap- 
pens to a German prisoner. They need not be 



28 ACTION FEONT 

detailed, but apparently the most serious of 
them was the removal of a portion of the black 
mud which masked the German's face, so as to 
leave a diamond-shaped patch of staring clean- 
ness over one eye, after the style of a music- 
hall star known to fame as the "White-eyed 
Kaffir; the ripping of a small portion of that 
garment which permitted of the extraction of 
a dangling shirt into a ridiculous wagging tail 
about a foot and a half long, and a pressing 
invitation, accompanied by a hint from the -bay- 
onet point, to give an exposition of the goose- 
step at the head of the other prisoners when- 
ever they and their escort were passing a suf- 
ficient number of troops to form a properly ap- 
preciative audience. Probably a Cockney-born 
Highlander was responsible for these pleas- 
antries, as he certainly was for the explana- 
tion he gave to curious inquirers. 

"He's mad," he explained. "Mad as a coot; 
thinks he's the devil, and insists on wagging his 
little tail. I have to keep him marching with 
his hands up this way, because he might try to 
grab my rifle. Now, it's no use you gritting 
your teeth and mumbling German swear words, 
cherrybim. Keep your 'ands well up, and pro- 
ceed with the goose-step." 

But with all this Macalister had nothing to 
do. When he had returned as nearly as he 



IN ENEMY HANDS 29 

could the exact sufferings he had endured, he 
was quite satisfied to let the matter drop. 

"I suppose," he said reflectively, when the 
officer had gone, after giving him orders to see 
the prisoner back, "as that finishes this play, 
we'll just need to treat ma lad here like an 
ordinary preesoner. Has ony o' ye got a wee 
bit biscuit an' bully beef an' a mouthful o' 
water t' gie the puir shiverin' crater ?" 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 

"... the enemy temporarily gained a foot- 
ing in a portion of our trench, but in our coun- 
ter-attack we retook this and a part of enemy 
trench beyond." — Extract from Official Des- 
patch. 

A wet night, a greasy road, and a side-slip- 
ping motor-bike provided the means of an in- 
troduction between Second Lieutenant Courte- 
nay of the 1st Footsloggers and Sergeant Wil- 
lard K. Rawbon of the Mechanical Transport 
branch of the A.S.C. The Mechanical Trans- 
port as a rule extend a bland contempt to 
motor-cycles running on the road, ignoring all 
their frantic toots of entreaty for room to pass, 
and leaving them to scrape as best they may 
along the narrow margin between a deep and 
muddy ditch and the undeviating wheels of a 
Juggernaut Mechanical Transport lorry. But 
a broken-down motor-cycle meets with a very 
different reception. It invariably excites some 
feeling compounded apparently of compassion 
and professional interest to the cycle, and an 
unlimited hospitality to the stranded cyclist. 

30 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 31 

This being well known to Second Lieutenant 
Courtenay, he, after collecting himself, his 
cycle, and his scattered wits from the ditch, 
and conscientiously cursing the road, the dark, 
and the wet, duly turned to bless the luck that 
had brought about an accident right at the 
doorstep of a section of the Motor Transport. 
There were about ten massive lorries drawn up 
close to the side of the road under the poplars, 
and Courtenay made a direct line for one from 
which a chink of light showed under the tar- 
paulin and sounds of revelry issued from a 
melodeon and a rasping file. Courtenay pulled 
aside the flap, poked his head in and found him- 
self blinking in the bright glare of an acetylene 
lamp suspended in the middle of a Mechanical 
Transport traveling workshop. The walls — tar- 
paulin over a wooden frame — were closely 
packed with an array of tools, and the floor 
was still more closely packed with a work-bench, 
vice and lathe, spare motor parts, boxes, and 
half a dozen men. The men were reading news- 
papers and magazines; one was manipulating 
the melodeon, and another at the vice was busy 
with the file. The various occupations ceased 
abruptly as Courtenay poked his head in and ex- 
plained briefly who he was and what his troubles 
were. 

' ' Thought you might be able to do something 
for me," he concluded, and before he had fin- 



32 ACTION FRONT 

ished speaking the man at the vice had laid 
down his file and was reaching down a mackin- 
tosh from its hook. Courtenay noticed a ser- 
geants stripes on his sleeve, and a thick and 
most unsoldierly crop of hair on his head plas- 
tered back from the brow. 

"Why sure," the sergeant said. "If she's 
anyways fixable, you reckon her as fixed. 
Whereabouts is she ditched !" 

Ten minutes later Courtenay was listening 
disconsolately to the list of damages discovered 
by the glare of an electric torch and the ser- 
geant's searching examination. 

"It'll take 'most a couple of hours to make 
any sort of a job," said the sergeant. "That 
bust up fork alone — but we'll put her to rights 
for you. Let's yank 'er over to the shop." 

Courtenay was a good deal put out by this an- 
nouncement. 

"I suppose there's no help for it," he said 
resignedly, "but it's dashed awkward. I'm due 
back at the billets now really, and another two 
or three hours late— whew!" 

"Carryin' a message, I s'pose," said the ser- 
geant, as together they seized the cycle and 
pushed it towards the repair lorry. 

"No," said Courtenay, "I was over seeing 
another officer out this way. ' ' He had an idea 
from the sergeant's free and easy style of ad- 
dress that the mackintosh, without any visible 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 33 

badges and with a very visible spattering of 
mud, had concealed the fact that he was an 
officer, and when he reached the light he casually- 
opened his coat to show his belts and tunic. 
But the sergeant made not the slightest differ- 
ence in his manner. 

" Guess you'd better pull that wet coat right 
off," he said casually, "and set down while 
I get busy. You boys, pike out, hit it for the 
downy, an' get any sleep you all can snatch. 
That break-down will be ambling along in about 
three hours an' shoutin' for quick repairs, so 
you'll have to hustle some. That three hours 
is about all the sleep comin' to you to-night; 
so, beat it." 

The damaged cycle was lifted into the lorry 
and propped up on its stand and before the men 
had donned their mackintoshes and "beat it," 
the sergeant was busy dismembering the dam- 
aged fork. Courtenay pulled off his wet coat 
and settled himself comfortably on a box after 
offering his assistance and being assured it was 
not required. The sergeant conversed affably 
as he worked. 

At first he addressed Courtenay as "mister," 
but suddenly — "Say," he remarked, "what 
ought I to be calling you? I never can remem- 
ber just what those different stars-an '-stripes 
fixin's mean." 

"My name is Courtenay and I'm second lieu- 



34 ACTION FEONT 

tenant," said the other. He was a good deal 
surprised, for naturally, a man does not usually 
reach the rank of sergeant without learning the 
meaning of the badges of rank on an officer's 
sleeve. 

"My name's Rawbon — Willard K. Rawbon," 
said the sergeant easily. "So now we know 
where we are. Will you have a cigar, Loo- 
tenant?" he went on, slipping a case from his 
pocket and extending it. Courtenay noticed 
the solidly expensive get-up and the gold ini- 
tials on the leather and was still more puzzled. 
He reassured himself by another look at the 
sergeant's stripes and the regulation soldier's 
khaki jacket. "No, thanks," he said politely, 
and struggling with an inclination to laugh, 
"I'll smoke a cigarette," and took one from 
his own case and lighted it. He was a good deal 
interested and probed gently. 

"You're Canadian, I suppose?" he said. 
"But this isn't Canadian Transport, is it?" 

"Not," said the sergeant. "Neither it nor 
me. No Canuck in mine, Loo-tenant. I'm good 
United States." 

1 ' I see, ' ' said Courtenay. ' i Just joined up to 
get a finger in the fighting?" 

"Yes an' no," said the sergeant, going on 
with his work in a manner that showed plainly 
he was a thoroughly competent workman. "It 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 35 

was a matter of business in the first place, a 
private business deal that " 

"I beg your pardon/ ' said Courtenay hastily, 
reddening to his ear-tips. "Please don't think 
I meant to question you. I say, are you sure I 
can't help with that? It's too bad my sitting 
here watching you do all the work. ' ' 

The sergeant straightened himself slowly 
from the bench and looked at Courtenay, a quiz- 
zical smile dawning on his thin lips. "Why 
now, Loo-tenant," he said, "there's no need to 
get het up none. I know you Britishers hate 
to be thought inquisitive — 'bad form,' ain't it? 
— but I didn't figure it thataway, not any. I'd 

forgot for a minute the difference 'tween " 

He broke off and looked down at his sleeve, nod- 
ding to the stripes and then to the lieutenant's 
star. "An' if you don't mind I'll keep on for- 
getting it meantime. 'Twon't hurt discipline, 
seeing nobody 's here anyway. Y ' see, ' ' he went 
on, stooping to his work again, "I'm not used 
to military manners an' customs. A year ago 
if you'd told me I'd be a soldier, and in the 
British Army, I'd ha' thought you clean loco." 

Courtenay laughed. "There's a good many 
in the same British Army can say the same as 
you," he said. 

"I was in London when the flare-up came, 
an' bein' interested in business I didn't ball up 
my intellect with politics an' newspaper war 



36 ACTION FRONT 

talk. So a cable I had from the firm hit me 
wallop, an' plumb dazed me. It said, 'Try se- 
cure war contract. One hundred full-powered 
available now. Two hundred delivery within 
month.' Then I began to sit up an' take no- 
tice. Y' see, I'm in with a big firm of auto 
builders — mebbe you know 'em — Rawbon an' 
Spedding, the Rawbon bein' my dad? No? 
Well, anyhow, I got the contract, got it so quick 
it made my head swim. Gee, that fellow in the 
War Office was buyin' up autos like I'd buy 
pipe-lights. The hundred lorries was shipped 
over, an' I saw 'em safe through the specified 
tests an' handed 'em over. Same with the next 
two hundred, an' this" — tapping his toe on the 
floor — "is one of 'em right here." 

"I see how the lorry got here," said Courte- 
nay, hugely interested, "but I don't see how 
you've managed to be aboard. You and a suit 
of khaki and a sergeant's stripes weren't all in 
the contract, I suppose!" 

"Nope," said the sergeant, "not in the writ- 
ten one, mebbe. But I took a fancy to seein' 
how the engines made out under war conditions, 
an' figured I might get some useful notes on it 
for the firm, so I fixed it to come right along." 

< ' But how I ' ' asked Courtenay--' ' if that 's not 
a secret." 

"Why, that guy in the testin' sheds was 
plump tickled when I told him my notion. He 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 37 

fixed it all, and me suddenly disco verm' I was 
mistook for a Canadian I just said 'M-m-m' 
when anybody asked me. I had to enlist 
though, to put the deal through, an' after that 
there wasn't trouble enough to clog the works 
of a lady's watch. But there was trouble 
enough at the other end. My dad fair riz up 
an' screeched cablegrams at me when I hinted 
at goin' to the Front. He made out it was 
on the business side he was kicking with the 
attitude of the U-nited States toward the squab- 
ble thrown in as extra. Neutrals, he said we 
was, benevolent neutrals, an' he wasn't goin' 
to have a son o' his steppin' outside the ring- 
fence o' the U-nited States Constitution, to say 
nothing of mebbe losin' good business we'd been 
do in' with the Hoggheimers, an' Schmidt 
Brothers, an' Fritz Schneckluk, an' a heap more 
buyers o' his that would rear up an' rip-snort 
an' refuse to do another cent's worth of deal- 
ing with a firm that was sellin' 'em autos wi' 
one hand an' shootin' holes in their brothers 
and cousins and Kaisers wi' the other. I 
soothed the old man down by pointing out I 
was to go working these lorries, and the Brit- 
ish Army don't shoot Germans with motor- 
lorries; and I'd be able to keep him posted 
in any weak points, if, and as, and when they 
developed, so he could keep ahead o' the crowd 
in improvements and hooking in more fat con- 



38 



ACTION FRONT 



tracts; and lastly, that the Schmidt customer 
crowd didn't need to know a thing about me 
being here unless he was dub enough to tell 
'em. So I signed on to serve King George an' 
his missus an' kids for ever an' ever, or du- 
ration of war, Amen, with a mental footnote, 
which last was the only part I mentioned in 
mailing my dad, that I was a Benevolent Neu- 
tral. An' here I am." 

"Good egg, ,f laughed Courtenay. "Hope 
you're liking the job." 

"Waal, I'll amit I'm some disappointed, Loo- 
tenant," drawled the sergeant. "Y' see I did 
expect I'd have a look in at some of the fightin'. 
I'm no ragin' blood-drinker an' bone-buster by 
profession, up-bringin', or liking. But it does 
seem sorter poor play that a man should be 
plumb center of the biggest war in history an' 
never see a single solitary corpse. An' that's 
me. I been trailin' around with this convoy for 
months, and never got near enough to a shell 
burst to tell it from a kid's firework. It ain't 
in the program of this trench warfare to have 
motor transport under fire, and the program 
is bein' strictly attended to. It's some sight 
too, they tell me, when a good mix-up is goin' 
on up front. I've got a camera here that I 
bought special, thinking it would be fun later 
to show round my album in the States an ' point 
out this man being skewered on a bayonet an' 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTEAL 39 

that one being disrupted by a bomb an' the 
next lot charging a trench. But will you believe 
me, Loo-tenant, I haven't as much as set eye 
or foot on the trenches. I did once take a run 
up on the captain's ' Douglas,' thinking I'd just 
have a walk around an' see the sights and get 
some snaps. But I might as well have tried to 
break into Heaven an' steal the choir's harps. 
I was turned back about ten ways I tried, and 
wound up by being arrested as a spy an' darn 
near gettin' shot. I got mad at last and I told 
some fellows, stuck all over with red tabs and 
cap-bands and armlets, that they could keep 
their old trenches, and I didn't believe they 
were worth looking at anyway." 

Courtenay was laughing again. "I fancy I 
see the faces of the staff," he choked. 

"Oh, they ante-d up all right later on," ad- 
mitted the sergeant, "when they'd discovered 
this column and roped in my captain to identify 
me. One old leather-face, 'specially — they told 
me after he was a General — was as nice as pie, 
an' had me in an' fed me a fresh meat and 
canned asparagus lunch and near chuckled him- 
self into a choking fit when I told him about 
dad, an' my being booked up as a Benevolent 
Neutral. He was so mighty pleasant that I 
told him I'd like to have my dad make him a 
present of as dandy an auto as rolls in France. 
I would have, too, but he simply wouldn't listen 



40 ACTION FEONT 

to me; told me he'd send it back freight paid 
if I did; and I had to believe him, though it 
seemed unnatural. But they wouldn't let me go 
look at their blame trenches. I tried to get this 
General joker to pass me in, but he wouldn't 
fall for it. 'No, no,' he gurgles and splutters. 
'A Benevolent Neutral in the trenches? Never 
do, never do. We'll have to put some new ini- 
tials on the Mechanical Transport,' he says, 
'B.N.M.T. Benevolent Neutral ! I must tell Dal- 
las of the Transport that.' And he shooed me 
off with that." 

The sergeant had worked busily as he talked, 
and now, as he commenced to replace the re- 
paired fork, he was thoughtfully silent a mo- 
ment. 

"I suppose there's some dandy sna-aps up 
in those trenches, Loo-tenant?" he said at last. 

"Oh, well, I dunno," said Courtenay. "Sort 
of thing you see in the picture papers, of 
course." 

"Them!" said the sergeant contemptuously. 
"I could make better sna-aps posin' some of 
the transport crowd in these emergency 
trenches dug twenty miles back from the front. 
I mean real pictures of the real thing — fellows 
knee-deep in mud, and a shell lobbing in, and 
such like — real dandy snaps. It makes my 
mouth water to think of 'em. But I suppose 
I'll go through this darn war and never see 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 41 

enough to let me hold up my head when I get 
back home and they ask me what was the war 
really like and to tell 'em about the trenches. 
I could have made out if I'd even seen those 
blame trenches and got some good snaps of 
'em." 

Courtenay was moved to a rash compassion 
and a still more rash promise. 

"Look here, sergeant," he said, "I'm dashed 
if I don't have a try to get you a look at the 
trenches. We go in again in two days and it 
might be managed." 

Three days later Sergeant Rawbon, mounted 
on the motor-cycle which he had repaired and 
which had been sent over to him, found all his 
obstacles to the trenches melt and vanish be- 
fore a couple of passes with which he was pro- 
vided — one readily granted by his captain on 
hearing the reason for its request, and one 
signed by Second Lieutenant Courtenay to pass 
the bearer, Sergeant Rawbon, on his way to the 
headquarters of the 1st Footsloggers with 
motor-cycle belonging to that battalion. The 
last quarter mile of the run to the headquarters 
introduced Sergeant Rawbon to the sensation 
of being under fire, and, as he afterwards in- 
formed Courtenay, he did not find the sensation 
in any way pleasant. 

"Loo-tenant," he said gravely, "I've had 



42 ACTION FRONT 

some of this under fire performance already, 
and I tell you I finds it no ways nice. Coming 
along that last bit of road I heard something 
whistling every now an' then like the top note 
of a tin whistle, and something else go in' whisk 
like a cane switched past your ear, and another 
lot saying smack like a whip-lash snapping. I 
was riding slow and careful, because that road 
ain't exactly — well, it would take a lot of sand- 
papering to make it really smooth. But when 
I realized that those sounds spelt bullets with 
a capital B, I decided that road wasn't as bad 
as I'd thought, and that anything up to thirty 
knots wasn't outside its limits." 

"Oh, you were all right," said Courtenay 
carelessly, " bullets can't touch you there, ex- 
cept a few long-distance ones that fall in en- 
filade over the village. From the front they 
go over your head, or hit that parapet along 
the side of the road." 

"Which is comforting, so far," said the ser- 
geant, "though, personally, I've just about as 
much objection to be hit by a bullet that comes 
over a village as any other kind. ' ' 

They were outside the remains of a house 
in the cellar of which was headquarters, Courte- 
nay having timed the sergeant to arrive at an 
hour when he, Courtenay, could arrange to be 
waiting at headquarters. 

"Now we'll shove along down and round the 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 43 

trenches. I spoke to the O.C. and explained 
the situation — partly. He didn't raise any- 
trouble, so just follow me, and leave me to do 
any talking there is to do. You must keep 
your eyes open and ask any questions about 
things after. It would look a bit odd and raise 
remarks if the men saw me showing you round 
and doing the Cook's Tour guide business. 
And if you've brought that camera, keep it out 
of sight till I give you the word. When we 
get along to my own company's bit of trench 
I'll tell you, and you can take some snaps — 
when I'm not looking at you. Just tip the wink 
to any men about and they'll be quite pleased 
to pose or anything you like. ' ' 

"Loo-tenant," said Sergeant Rawbon earn- 
estly, "you're doin' this thing real handsome, 
and I won't forget it. If ever you hit the 
U-nited States " 

"Oh, that's all right," said Courtenay, 
"come along now." 

"When we find your bunch," said Rawbon 
as they moved off, "if you could make some 
sort of excuse out loud, and fade from the scene 
a minute and leave me there with the men, I'll 
sure get some of the dandiest snaps I'd wish. 
I reckon it'll satisfy the crowd if I promise to 
send 'em copies. It will if they're anything like 
my lot in the Mechanical Transport." 

They slid down into a deep and narrow and 



44 ACTION FRONT 

very muddy ditch that ran twistingly through 
the wrecked village. Courtenay explained that 
usually they could walk this part above ground, 
sheltered from bullets by the broken-down 
houses and walls, but that a good few shells had 
been coming over all day, and that in the com- 
munication trench they were safe from all shells 
but those which burst directly over or in the 
part they were in. 

"You want to run across this bit," he said 
presently. "A high explosive broke that in this 
morning, and it can't be repaired properly till 
dark. You go first and wait the other side for 
me. Now — jump lively!" 

Rawbon took one quick jumping stride to the 
middle of the gap, and another and very much 
quicker one beyond it, as a bullet smacked veno- 
mously into the broken side of the trench. An- 
other threw a spurt of mud at Courtenay 's 
heels as he made the rush. "A sniper watches 
the gap and pots at anyone passing," he ex- 
plained to Rawbon. "It's fairly safe, because 
at the range he's firing a bullet takes just a 
shade longer to reach here than you take to 
run across. But it doesn't do to walk." 

"No," said Rawbon, "and going back some- 
how I don't think I will walk. I can see with- 
out any more explainin' that it's no spot for 
a pleasant, easy little saunter." He stopped 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 45 

suddenly as a succession of whooping rushes 
passed overhead. "Gee! What's that?" 

"Shells from our own guns," said Courte- 
nay, and took the lead again. In his turn he 
stopped and crouched, calling to Rawbon to 
keek down. They heard a long screaming whis- 
tle rising to a tempestuous roar and breaking 
off in a crash which made the ground shake. 
Next moment a shower of mud and earth and 
stones fell rattling and thumping about and 
into the trench. 

"Coal-box," said Courtenay hurriedly. 
"Come on. They're apt to drop some more 
about the same spot." 

"I'm with you," said Rawbon. "The same 
spot is a good one to quit, I reckon." 

They hurried, slipping and floundering, along 
the wet trench, and turned at last into another 
zig-zag one where a step ran along one side, 
and men muffled in wet coats stood behind a 
loopholed parapet. Along the trench was a 
series of tiny shelters scooped out of the bank, 
built up with sand-bags, covered ineffectually 
with wet, shiny, waterproof ground-sheets. In 
these, men were crouched over scantily filled 
braziers, or huddled, curled up like homeless 
dogs on a doorstep. At intervals along the 
parapet men watched through periscopes 
hoisted over the top edge, and every now and 
then one fired through a loophole. The trench 



46 ACTION FEONT 

bottom where they walked was anything from 
ankle- to knee-deep in evil-looking watery mud 
of the consistency of very thin porridge. The 
whole scene, the picture of wet misery, the dirt 
and squalor and discomfort made Rawbon 
shiver as much from disgust as from the raw 
cold that clung about the oozing clay walls and 
began to bite through to his soaking feet and 
legs. Courtenay stopped near a group of men, 
and telling the sergeant to wait there a moment, 
moved on and left him. A puff of cold wet wind 
blew over the parapet, and the sergeant 
wrinkled his nose disgustedly. "Some odor- 
ous," he commented to a mud-caked private 
hunkered down on his heels on the fire-step 
with his back against the trench wall. "Does 
the Boche run a glue factory or a fertilizer 
works around here?" 

"The last about fits it," said the private 
grimly. "They made an attack here about a 
week back, and there's a tidy few fertilizm' 
out there now — to say nothin' of some of ours 
we can't get in." 

Rawbon squirmed uneasily to think he should, 
however unwittingly, have jested about their 
dead, but nobody there seemed in any way 
shocked or resentful. The sergeant suddenly 
remembered his camera, and had thrust his 
hand under his coat to his pocket when the 
warning screech of an approaching shell and 






A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 47 

the example of the other men in the traverse 
sent him crouching low in the trench bottom. 
The trench there was almost knee-deep in thin 
mud, but everyone apparently took that as a 
matter of course. The shell burst well behind 
them, but it was followed immediately by about 
a dozen rounds from a light gun. They came 
uncomfortably close, crashing overhead and 
just in front of the parapet. A splinter from 
one lifted a man's cap from his head and sent 
it flying. The splinter's whirr and the man's 
sharp exclamation brought all eyes in his di- 
rection. His look of comical surprise and the 
half-dazed fashion of his lifting a hand to fum- 
ble cautiously at his head raised some laughter 
and a good deal of chaff. 

' i Orright, ' ' he said angrily. i ' Orright, go on ; 
laugh, dash yer. Fat lot t' laugh at, seem' a 
man's good cap pitched in the mud." 

"No use you feelin' that 'ead o' yours," said 
his neighbor, grinning. "You can't even raise a 
sick 'eadache out o' that squeak. 'Arf an inch 
lower now an' you might 'ave 'ad a nice little 
trip 'ome in an 'orspital ship." 

"You're wrong there, Jack," said another 
solemnly. ' ' That splinter hit fair on top of his 
nut, an' glanced off. You don't think a pifflin' 
little Pip-Squeak shell could go through his 
head?" He stepped up on the firing-step as he 
spoke, and on the instant, with a rush and 



48 ACTION FEONT 

crash, another " Pip-Squeak' ' struck the para- 
pet immediately in front of him, blowing the 
top edge off it, filling the air with a volcano of 
mud, dirt, smoke, and shrieking splinters, and, 
either from the shock of the explosion or in an 
attempt to escape it, throwing the man off his 
balance on the ledge of the firing-step to sprawl 
full length in the mud. In the swirl of noise 
and smoke and flying earth Eawbon just 
glimpsed the plunging fall of a man's body, 
and felt a curious sickly feeling at the pit of his 
stomach. He was relieved beyond words to see 
the figure rise to his knees and stagger to his 
feet, dripping mud and filth, and swearing at 
the pitch of his voice. He paid no attention 
to the stutter of laughter round him as he re- 
trieved his mud-encrusted rifle, and looked 
about him for his cap. The laughter rose as 
he groped in the thin mud for it, still cursing 
wildly; and then the sergeant noticed that the 
man who had lost his cap a minute before had 
quietly snatched up the other one from the fir- 
ing-step, clapped it on his own head and pre- 
tended to help the loser to search. 

"It was blame funny, I suppose,' ' Rawbon 
told the lieutenant a few minutes after, as they 
moved from the spot. "Him chasin' round in 
the mud cussin' all blue about his 'blarsted 
cap' ; and t'other fellow wi' the cap on his head 
and pretending to hunt for it, and callin' the 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 49 

rest to come help. I dessay I'll laugh some my- 
self, if I remember it when I'm safe back about 
ten mile from here. Just at the moment my 
funny bone hasn't got goin' right after me ex- 
pectin ' to see that feller bio wed to ribbons an' 
remnants. But them others — say, IVe seen 
men sittin' comfortable in an armchair seat 
at a roof- garden vaudeville that couldn't raise 
as hearty a laugh at the prize antics of the 
thousand dollar star comedian, as them fellers 
riz on that cap episode." 

"Well, it was rather funny, you know," said 
Courtenay, grinning a little himself. 

"Mebbe, mebbe," said Rawbon. "But me — 
well, if you'll excuse it, I'll keep that laugh in 
pickle till I feel more like usin' it." 

"You wanted to come, you know," said 
Courtenay. "But I won't blame you if you 
say you've had enough and head for home. As 
I told you before, this ' joy-riding' game is 
rather silly. It's bad enough us taking risks 
we have to, but " 

' ' Yes, you spoke that piece, Loo-tenant, ' ' said 
Rawbon, "but I want to see all there is on show 
now I'm here. Only don't expect me to shriek 
with hilarious mirth every time a shell busts 
six inches off my nose." 

They had halted for a moment, and now an- 
other crackling string of light shells burst along 
the trench. 



50 ACTION FEONT 

"There's another bunch o' humor arriving," 
said Rawbon. "But I don't feel yet like en- 
coring the turn any." 

They moved on to a steady accompaniment 
of shell bursts and Courtenay looked round un- 
easily. 

"I don't half like this," he said. "They 
don't usually shell us so at this time of day. 
Hope there's no attack coming." 

"I agree with all you say, Loo-tenant, and 
then some. Especially about not liking it." 

"I'm beginning to think you'd be better off 
these premises," said Courtenay. "I ought to 
be with my company if any trouble is coming 
off. And it might lead to questions and un- 
pleasantness if you were found here — espe- 
cially if you're a casualty, or I am." 

"Nuff sed," Loo-tenant," said Rawbon 
promptly. "I don't want that sort o' trouble 
for various reasons. I'd have an everlastin' 
job explaining to my dad what I was doin' in 
the front seats o' the firing line. It wouldn't 
just fit wi' my bein' a Benevolent Neutral, not 
anyhow." 

"We're only about thirty or forty yards 
from the Germ trench in this bit," said Courte- 
nay. "Here, carry my periscope, and when 
I'm talking to some of the men just take a look 
quietly. ' ' 

But Rawbon was not able to see much when, 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 51 

a little later, he had a chance to use the peri- 
scope. For one thing the short winter day was 
fading and the light was already poor ; for an- 
other any attempt to keep the periscope above 
the parapet for more than a few seconds 
brought a series of bullets hissing and zipping 
over, and periscope glasses in those days were 
too precious to risk for mere curiosity's sake. 

' i We'll just have a look at the Frying Pan," 
said Courtenay, "and then you'll have seen 
about the lot. We hold a bit of the trench 
running out beyond the Pan and the Germs are 
holding the same trench a little further along. 
We've both got the trench plugged up with 
sandbag barricades. ' ' 

They floundered along the twisting trench till 
it turned sharply to the right and ran out into 
the shallow hollow of the Frying Pan. It was 
swimming in greasy mud, and across the far 
side from where they stood Rawbon could see 
a breastwork of sandbags. 

"We call this entrance trench the Handle, 
and the trench that runs out from behind that 
barricade the Leak. There's always more or 
less bombing going on in the Leak, and I don't 
know if it's very wise of you to go up there. 
We call this the Frying Pan because — well, 
'into the fire,' you know. Will you chance it!" 

"Why, sure; if you don't mind, Loo-tenant," 
said Rawbon, "I might as well see " 



52 ACTION FRONT 

He was interrupted by a sudden crash and 
roar, running bursts of flaring light, hoarse 
yells and shouts, and a few rifle shots from 
somewhere beyond the barricade across the 
Leak. The work of the next minute was too 
fast and furious for Rawbon to follow or under- 
stand. The uproar beyond the barricade 
swelled and clamored, and the earth shook to 
the roar of bursting bombs. In the Frying 
Pan there was a sudden vision of confused fig- 
ures, dimly seen through the swirling smoke, 
swaying and struggling, threshing and splash- 
ing in the liquid mud. He was just conscious 
of Courtenay shouting something about "Get 
back," of his being thrust violently back into 
the wide trench, of two or three figures crowd- 
ing in after him, cursing and staggering and 
shooting back into the Frying Pan, of Courte- 
nay 's voice shouting again to "Stand clear," 
of a knot of men scrambling and heaving at 
something, and then of a deafening "Rat-tat- 
tat- tat, ' ' and the streaming flashes of a machine- 
gun. It stopped firing after a minute, and Raw- 
bon, flattened back against a corner of the 
trench wall, heard an explanation given by a 
gasping private to Courtenay and another mud- 
bedaubed officer who appeared mysteriously 
from somewhere. 

"Flung a shower o' bombs an* rushed us, 
sir," said the private. "They was over a-top 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 53 

o' us 'fore you could say i knife.' Only two or 
three o' us that wasn't downed and was able 
to get back out o' the Leak an' across the Pan 
to here." 

"We stopped them with the maxim," said 
Courtenay, "but I suppose they'll rush again 
in a minute. ' ' 

He and the other officer conferred hastily. 
Rawbon caught a few words about "counter- 
attack" and "quicker the better" and "all the 
men I can find," and then the other officer 
moved hurriedly down the trench and men came 
jostling and crowding to the end of the Handle, 
just clear of the corner where it turned into 
the Pan. A few sandbags were pulled down 
off the parapet and heaped across the end of 
the trench, the machine-gun was run close up 
to them and a couple of men posted, one to 
watch with a periscope, and the other to keep 
Verey pistol lights flaring into the Frying Pan. 

Two minutes later the other officer returned, 
spoke hastily to Courtenay, and then calling to 
the men to follow, jumped the low barricade 
and ran splashing out into the open hollow with 
the men streaming after him. A burst of rifle 
fire and the shattering crash of bombs met 
them, and continued fiercely for a few minutes 
after the last of the counter-attacking party 
had swarmed out. But the attack broke down, 
never reached the barricade beyond the Pan, 



54 ACTION FEONT 

was, in fact, cut down almost as fast as it 
emerged into the open. A handful of men came 
limping and floundering back, and Courtenay, 
waiting by the machine-gun in case of another 
German rush, caught sight of the face of the 
last man in. 

"Rawbon!" he said sharply. "Good Lord, 
man! I'd forgotten — What took you out 
there 1" 

"Say, Loo-tenant/' said Rawbon, panting 
hard. "There's no crossin' that mud puddle 
Fry-Pan. They're holding the barricade 'cross 
there; got loopholes an' shootin' through 'em. 
Can't we climb out an' over the open an' on 
top of 'em?" 

"No good," said Courtenay. "They're 
sweeping it with maxims. Listen!" 

Up to then Rawbon had heeded nothing above 
the level of the trench and the hollow but now 
he could hear the steady roar of rifle and maxim 
fire, and the constant whistle of bullets stream- 
ing overhead. 

"I must rally another crowd and try'n' rush 
it," said Courtenay. "Stand ready with that 
maxim there. I won't be long." 

"I've got a box of bombs here, sir," said a 
man behind him. 

Courtenay turned sharply. ' ' Good, ' ' he said. 
"But no — it's too far to throw them." 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 55 

"I think I could just about fetch it, sir," 
said the man. 

"All right," said Courtenay. "Try it while 
I get some men together." 

"Here y' are, chum," said the man, "you 
light 'em an' I'll chuck 'em. This way for the 
milky coco-nuts ! ' ' 

Rawbon watched curiously. The bomb was 
round shaped and rather larger than a cricket 
ball. A black tube affair an inch or two long 
projected from it and emitted, when lit, a jet of 
hissing, spitting sparks. The bomb-thrower 
seized the missile quickly, stepped clear of the 
sheltering corner of the trench, threw the bomb, 
and jumped back under cover. A couple of 
bullets slapped into the wall of the trench, and 
next moment the bomb burst. 

"Just short," said the thrower, who had 
peeped out at sound of the report. ' i Let 's 'ave 
another go." 

This time a shower of bullets greeted him as 
he stepped out, but he hurled his bomb and 
stepped back in safety. A third he threw, but 
this time a bullet caught him and he reeled 
back with blood staining the shoulder of his 
tunic. 

"You'll 'ave to excuse me," he remarked 
gravely to the man with the match. "Can't 
stay now. I 'ave an urgent appointment in 



56 ACTION FRONT 

Blighty} But I'll drink your 'ealth when I gets 
to Lunnon." 

Rawbon had watched the throwing impa- 
tiently. l l Look here, ' ' he said suddenly. i ' Just 
lemme have a whale at this pitching. I'll show 
'em some curves that'll dazzle 'em." 

The wounded man peered at him and then 
at his cap badge. ' ' Now 'oo the blank is this ! ' ' 
he demanded. "Blimey, Joe, if 'ere ain't a 
blooming Universal Plum- an '-Apple Provider. 
'Ere, 'oo stole the strawberry jam?" 

"You let me in on this ball game," said Raw- 
bon. "Light 'em and pass 'em quick, and see 
me put the Indian sign on that bunch." 

A minute later Courtenay came back and 
stared in amazement at the scene. Two men 
were lighting and passing up bombs to the ser- 
geant, who, standing clear out in the opening, 
grabbed and hurled the balls with an extraor- 
dinary prancing and dancing and arm-swinging 
series of contortions, while the crowded trench 
laughed and applauded. 

"Some pitchin', Loo-tenant," he panted 
beamingly, stepping back into shelter. "Hark 
at 'em. And every darn one right over the 
plate. Say, step out here an' watch this next 
lot." 

"No time now," said Courtenay hurriedly. 

1 England. A soldier's corruption of the Hindustani word 
"Belati." 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 57 

V They 're strengthening their defense every 
minute. Are you all ready there, lads?" 

"I don't know who this man is, sir," said a 
sergeant quickly. "But he's doing great work. 
Every bomb has gone in behind the parado 
there. He might try a few more to shake them 
before we advance." 

' ' Behind the parakeet, ' ' snorted Rawbon. ' ' I 
should smile. You watch! I'll put some 
through the darn loopholes for you. Didn't 
know I was pitcher to the Purple Socks, the 
year we whipped the League, did you? Gimme 
thirty seconds, Loo-tenant, and I'll put thirty 
o' these balls right where they live." 

As he spoke he picked up two of the bombs 
from a fresh box and held them to the lighter. 
As he plunged out a shower of bullets spattered 
the trench wall about him, but without heeding 
these he began to throw. As the roar of the 
bursting bombs began, the bullets slowed down 
and ceased. "Keep the lights blazing," Raw- 
bon paused to shout to the man with the pistol 
flares. "You slide out for the home base, Loo- 
tenant, and I'll keep 'em too busy to shoot their 
nasty little guns." He commenced to hurl the 
bombs again. Courtenay stepped out and 
watched a moment. Bomb after bomb whizzed 
true and hard across the hollow, just skimmed 
the breastwork, struck on the trench wall that 
showed beyond and a foot above it, and fell be- 



58 ACTION FRONT 

hind the barricade. Billowing smoke-clouds 
and gusts of flame leaped and flashed above the 
parapet. Courtenay saw the chance and took 
it. He plunged out into the lake of mud and 
plowed through it towards the barricade, the 
men swarming behind him, and the sergeant's 
bombs hurtling with trailing streams of sparks 
over their heads. 

"Come on, son," said the sergeant. "You 
carry that box and gimme the slow match. I 
pitch better with a little run. ' ' 

Courtenay reached the barricade and led his 
men over and round it without a casualty. The 
space behind the barricade was deserted — de- 
serted, that is, except by the dead, and by some 
unutterable things that would have been better 
dead. 

The lost portion of trench was recaptured, 
and more, the defense, demoralized by that tor- 
nado of explosions, was pushed a good fifty 
yards further back before the counter-attack 
was stayed. 

At daybreak next morning Courtenay and the 
sergeant stood together on the road leading to 
the communication trench. Both were crusted 
to the shoulders in thick mud; Rawbon's cap 
was gone, and his hair hung plastered in a wet 
mop over his ears and forehead, and Courtenay 
showed a red-stained bandage under his cap. 

"Rawbon," he said, "I feel rotten over this 



A BENEVOLENT NEUTRAL 59 

business. Here you've done some real good 
work — I don't believe we'd ever have got across 
without your bombing — and you won't let me 
say a word about it. I'm dashed if I like it. 
Dash it, you ought to get a V.C., or a D.C.M. at 
least, for it." 

"Now lookahere, Loo-tenant," said Rawbon 
soothingly. "There's no need for you to feel 
peaked — not any. It was darn good of you to 
let me in on these sacred no-admittance- 'cept- 
on-business trenches, and I'm plumb glad I 
landed in the mix-up. It would probably raise 
trouble for you if your boss knew you'd slipped 
me in; and it sure would raise everlasting 
trouble for me at home if my name was flour- 
ishin' in the papers gettin' an A.B.C. or 
D. A.M.N, or whatever the fixin' is. And I'd 
sooner have this" — slapping the German hel- 
met that dangled at his belt — ' ' than your whole 
darn alphabet o' initials. Don't forget what I 
told you about the dad an' those Schwartze- 
heimer friends o ' his, the cousins o ' which same 
friends I've been bio win' off the earth with 
bomb base-balls. Let it go at that, and never 
forget it, friend — I'm a Benevolent Neutral." 

"I won't forget it," said Courtenay, laugh- 
ing and shaking hands. He watched the ser- 
geant as he bestrode the motor-cycle, pushed 
off, and swung off warily down the wet road 
into the morning mist. 



60 ACTION FEONT 

"What was it that despatch said a while 
back?" he mused. "Something about 'There 
are few who appreciate or even understand the 
value of the varied work of the Army Service 
Corps/ Well, this lot was a bit more varied 
than usual, and I fancy it might astonish even 
the fellow who wrote that line." 



DRILL 

"Yesterday one of the enemy's heavy guns 
was put out of action by our artillery." — Ex- 

TKACT FROM DESPATCH. 

" Stand fast!" the instructor bellowed, and 
while the detachment stiffened to immobility 
he went on, without stopping to draw breath, 
bellowing other and less printable remarks. 
After he had finished these he ordered "De- 
tachment rear ! ' ' and taking more time and add- 
ing even more point to his remarks, he repeated 
some of them and added others, addressing ab- 
ruptly and virulently the "Number" whose 
bungling had aroused his wrath. 

"You've learnt your gun drill," he said, 
"learned it like a sulphur-crested cockatoo 
learns to gabble ' Pretty Polly scratch a poll'; 
why in the name of Moses you can't make your 
hands do what your tongue says 'as me beat. 
You, Donovan, that's Number Three, let me 
hear you repeat the drill for Action Front." 

Donovan, standing strictly to attention, and 
with his eyes fixed straight to his front, drew a 
deep breath and rattled off: 

61 



62 ACTION FRONT 

"At the order or signal from the battery- 
leader or section commander, 'Halt action 
front!' One orders 'Halt action front!' — At 
the order from One, the detachment dismounts, 
Three unkeys, and with Two lifts the trail; 
when the trail is clear of the hook, Three orders 
'Limber drive on.' " 

The instructor interrupted explosively. 

"You see," he growled, "you know it. Three 
orders 'Limber drive on.' You're Three! but 
did you order limber drive on, or limber drive 
off, or drive anywhere at all? Did you expect 
drivers that would be sitting up there on their 
horses, with their backs turned to you, to have 
eyes in the backs of their heads to see when you 
had the trail lifted, or did you be expectin ' them 
to thought-read that you wanted them to drive 
on?" 

Three, goaded at last to a sufficiency of dar- 
ing, ventured to mutter something about "was 
going to order it." 

The instructor caught up the phrase and 
flayed him again with it. " 'Was going to,' " 
he repeated, " 'was going to order it.' Per- 
haps some day, when a bullet comes along and 
drills a hole in your thick head, you will want to 
tell it you 'was going to' get out of the way. 
You maybe expect the detachment to halt and 
stand easy, and light a cigarette, and have a 
chat while you wait to make up your mind what 



DRILL 63 

you're going to say, and when you're going to 
say it? And if ever you get past recruit drill 
in the barracks square, my lad, and smell pow- 
der burnt in action, you'll learn that there's 
no such thing as ' going to' in your gun drill. 
If you're slow at it, if you fumble your fingers, 
and tie knots in your tongue, and stop to think 
about your 'going to,' you'll find maybe that 
'going to' has gone before you make up your 
mind, and the only thing 'going to' will be you 
and your detachment; and its Kingdom Come 
you'll be 'going to' at that. And now we'll 
try it again, and if I find any more 'going to' 
about it this time it's an hour's extra drill a 
day you'll be 'going to' for the next week." 

He kept the detachment grilling and grind- 
ing for another hour before he let them go, and 
at the end of it he spent another five minutes 
pointing out the manifold faults and failings of 
each individual in the detachment, reminding 
them that they belonged to the Royal Regi- 
ment of Artillery that is "The right of the line, 
the terror of the world, and the pride of the 
British Army," and that any man who wasn't 
a shining credit to the Royal Regiment was no 
less than a black disgrace to it. 

When the detachment dismissed, and for the 
most part gravitated to the canteen, they 
passed some remarks upon their instructor al- 
most pungent enough to have been worthy of 



64 ACTION FRONT 

his utterance. "Him an' his everlastin' 'Cut 
the Time!'" 

"I'm just about fed up with him," said Gun- 
ner Donovan bitterly, "and I'd like to know 
where's all the sense doing this drill against a 
stop-watch. You'd think from the way he talks 
that a man's life was hanging on the whiskers 
of a half-second. Blanky rot, I call it. ' ' 

"I wouldn't mind so much," said another 
gunner, "if ever he thought to say we done it 
good, but not 'im. The better we does it and 
the faster, the better and the faster he wants it 
done. It's my belief that if he had a gun de- 
tachment picked from the angels above he'd 
tell 'em their buttons and their gold crowns was 
a disgrace to Heaven, that they was too slow 
to catch worms or catch a cold, and that they'd 
'ave to cut the time it took 'em to fly into col- 
umn o' route from the right down the Golden 
Stairs, or to bring their 'arps to the 'Alt action 
front." 

These were the mildest of the remarks that 
passed between the smarting Numbers of the 
gun detachment, but they would have been as- 
tonished beyond words if they could have heard 
what their instructor Sergeant "Cut-the-Time" 
was saying at that moment to a fellow-sergeant 
in the sergeants' mess. 

"They're good lads," he said, "and it's me, 
that in my time has seen the making and the 



DRILL 65 

breaking and the handling and the hammering 
of gun detachments enough to man every gun in 
the Army, that's saying it. I had them on the 
' Halt action front' this morning, and I tell you 
they've come on amazing since I took 'em in 
hand. We cut three solid seconds this morning 
off the time we have been taking to get the gun 
into action, and a second a round off the firing 
of ten rounds. They'll make gunners yet if 
they keep at it. ' ' 

" Three seconds is good enough," said the 
other mildly. 

"It isn't good enough," returned the instruc- 
tor, "if they can make it four, and four's not 
good enough if they can make it five. It 's when 
they can't cut the time down by another split 
fraction of a second that I'll be calling them 
good enough. They won't be blessing me for 

it now, but come the day maybe they will. ' ' 

* # # # # 

The battery was moving slowly down a 
muddy road that ran along the edge of a thick 
wood. It had been marching most of the night, 
and, since the night had been wet and dark, the 
battery was splashed and muddy to the gun- 
muzzles and the tops of the drivers' caps. It 
was early morning, and very cold. Gunners 
and drivers were muffled in coats and woolen 
scarves, and sat half-asleep on their horses and 
wagons. A thick and chilly mist had delayed 



66 ACTION FRONT 

the coming of light, but now the mist had lifted 
suddenly, blown clear by a quickly risen chill 
wind. When the mist had been swept away 
sufficiently for something to be seen of the sur- 
rounding country, the Major, riding at the head 
of the battery, passed the word to halt and dis- 
mount, and proceeded to "find himself on the 
map." Glancing about him, he picked out a 
church steeple in the distance, a wayside shrine, 
and a cross-road near at hand, a curve of the 
wood beside the road, and by locating these on 
the squared map, which he took from its mud- 
splashed leather case, he was enabled to place 
his finger on the exact spot on the map where 
his battery stood at that moment. Satisfied 
on this, he was just about to give the order to 
mount when he heard the sound of breaking 
brushwood and saw an infantry officer emerge 
from the trees close at hand. 

The officer was a young man, and was evi- 
dently on an errand of haste. He slithered 
down the steep bank at the edge of the wood, 
leaped the roadside ditch, asked a question of 
the nearest man, and, getting an answer from 
him, came at the double past the guns and teams 
towards the Major. He saluted hastily, said 
"Morning sir," and went on breathlessly: 
"My colonel sent me across to catch you. We 
are in a ditch along the edge of the far side 
of this wood, and could just see enough of you 



DRILL 67 

between the trees to make out your battery. 
From where we are we can see a German gun, 
one of their big brutes, with a team of about 
twenty horses pulling it, plain and fair out in 
the open. The Colonel thinks you could knock 
'em to glory before they could reach cover.' ' 

' i Where can I see them from?" said the 
Major quickly. 

"Ill show you," said the subaltern, "if you'll 
leave your horse and come with me through this 
wood. It's only a narrow belt of trees here." 

The Major turned to one of his subalterns 
who was with him at the head of the battery. 

"Send back word to the captain to come up 
here and wait for me!" he said rapidly. "Tell 
him what you have just heard this officer say, 
and tell him to give the word, ' Prepare for ac- 
tion.' And now," he said, turning to the in- 
fantryman, "go ahead." 

The two of them jumped the ditch, scrambled 
up the bank, and disappeared amongst the 
trees. 

A message back to the captain who was at 
the rear of the battery brought him up at a 
canter. The subaltern explained briefly what he 
had heard, and the captain, after interrupting 
him to shout an order to "Prepare for action," 
heard the finish of the story, pulled out his map, 
and pointing out on it a road shown as running 



68 ACTION FRONT 

through the trees, sent the subaltern off to 
reconnoiter it. 

The men were stripping off their coats, roll- 
ing them and strapping them to the saddles 
and the wagon seats ; the Numbers One, the ser- 
geants in charge of each gun, bustling their gun- 
ners, and seeing everything about the guns 
made ready: the gunners examining the mech- 
anism and gears of the gun, opening and closing 
the hinged flaps of the wagons, and tearing the 
thin metal cover off the fuses. 

It was all done smartly and handily, and one 
after another the sergeants reported their sub- 
sections as ready. Immediately the captain 
gave the order to mount, drivers swung them- 
selves to their saddles, and the gunners to their 
seats on the wagons, and all sat quietly waiting 
for whatever order might come next. 

The lifting of the mist had shown a target to 
the gunners on both sides apparently, and the 
roar and boom of near and distant guns beat 
and throbbed quicker and at closer intervals. 

In three minutes the Major came running 
back through the wood, and the captain moved 
to meet him. 

" We've got a fair chance l" said the Major 
exultingly. "One of their big guns clear in the 
open, and moving at a crawl. I want you to 
take the battery along the road here, sharp to 
the right at the cross-road, and through the 



DRILL 69 

wood. The Inf. tell me there is just a pass- 
able road through. Take guns and firing bat- 
tery wagons only ; leave the others here. When 
you get through the wood, turn to the right 
again, and along its edge until you come to 
where I'll be waiting for you. I'll take the 
range-taker with me. The order will be 'open 
sights'; it's the only way — not time to hunt 
a covered position! Now, is all that clear!" 

" Quite clear," said the captain tersely. 

"Off you go, then," said the Major; "re- 
member, it's quick work. Trumpeter, come 
with me, and the range-taker. Sergeant-major, 
leave the battery staff under cover with the first 
line." 

He swung into the saddle, set his horse at 
the ditch, and with a leap and scramble was 
over and up the bank and crashing into the 
undergrowth, followed by his trumpeter and a 
man with the six-foot tube of a range-finder 
strapped to the saddle. 

Before he was well off the road the captain 
shouted the order to walk march, and as the 
battery did so the subaltern who had been sent 
out to reconnoiter the road came back at a can- 
ter. 

"We can just do it," he reported; "it's 
greasy going, and the road is narrow and rather 
twisty, but we can do it all right." 

The captain sent back word to section com- 



70 ACTION FRONT 

manders, and the other two subalterns spurred 
forward and joined him. 

"We go through the wood," he explained, 
"and come into action on the other side. The 
order is 'open sights/ so I expect we'll be in an 
exposed position. You know what that means. 
There's a gun to knock out, and if we can do it 
and get back quick before they get our range we 

may get off light. If we can't " and he 

broke off significantly. ' ' Get back and tell your 
Numbers One, and be ready for quick moving.' ' 

Immediately they had fallen back the order 
was given to trot, and the battery commenced 
to bump and rumble rapidly over the rough 
road. As they neared the cross-roads they were 
halted a moment, and then the guns and their 
attendant ammunition wagons only went on, 
turned into the wood, and recommenced to trot. 

They jolted and swayed and slid over the 
rough, wet road, the gunners clinging fiercely 
to the handrails, the drivers picking a way as 
best they could over bowlders and between ruts. 
They emerged on the far side of the wood, 
found themselves in an open field, turned 
sharply to the right, and kept on at a fast trot. 
A line of infantry were entrenched amongst the 
trees on the edge of the wood, but their shouted 
remarks were drowned in the clatter and rattle 
and jingle of wheels and harness. Out on their 
left the ground rose very gently, and far be- 



DRILL 71 

yond a low crest could be seen clumps of trees, 
patches of fields, and a few scattered farm- 
houses. At several points on this distant slope 
the white smoke-clouds of bursting shells were 
puffing and breaking, but so far there was no 
sign to be seen of any man or of any gun. When 
they came to where the Major was waiting he 
rode out from the trees, blew sharply on a 
whistle, and made a rapid signal with hand and 
arm. The guns and wagons had been moving 
along the edge of the wood in single file, but 
now at the shouted order each team swung ab- 
ruptly to its left and commenced to move in a 
long line out from the wood towards the low 
crest, the whole movement being performed 
neatly and cleanly and still at a trot. The 
Major rode to his place in the center of the 
line, and the battery, keeping its place close on 
his heels, steadily increased its pace almost to 
a canter. The Major's whistle screamed again, 
and at another signal and the shouted orders 
the battery dropped to a walk. Every man 
could see now over the crest and into the shal- 
low valley that fell away from it and rose again 
in gentle folds and slopes. At first they could 
see nothing of the gun against which they had 
expected to be brought into action, but pres- 
ently some one discovered a string of tiny black 
dots that told of the long team and heavy gun 
it drew. Another sharp whistle and the Ma- 



72 ACTION FEONT 

jor's signal brought the battery up with a jerk. 

"Halt! action front !" The shouted order 
rang hoarsely along the line. For a moment 
there was wild commotion; a seething chaos, a 
swirl of bobbing heads and plunging horses. 
But in the apparent chaos there was nothing 
but the most smooth and ordered movement, 
the quick but most exact following of a routine 
drill so well ground in that its motions were al- 
most mechanical. The gunners were off their 
seats before the wheels had stopped turning, the 
key snatched clear, and the trail of the gun 
lifted, the wheels seized, and the gun whirled 
round in a half-circle and dropped pointing to 
the enemy. The ammunition wagon pulled up 
into place beside the gun, the traces flung clear, 
and the teams hauled round and trotted off. As 
Gunner Donovan's trail was lifted clear his yell 
of "Limber, drive on," started the team for- 
ward with a jerk, and a moment later, as he and 
the Number Two slipped into their seats on the 
gun the Number Two grinned at him. ' ' Sharp 's 

the word," he said: "d'you mind the time " 

He was interrupted roughly by the sergeant, 
who had just had the target pointed out to him, 
jerking up the trail to throw the gun roughly 
into line. 

"Shut yer head, and get on to it, Donovan. 
You see that target there, don't you?" 

"See it a fair treat!" said Donovan joyfully; 



DRILL 73 

"I'D bet I plunk a bull in the first three shots.' ' 
Back in the wood the infantry colonel, from a 
vantage-point half-way up a tall tree, watched 
the ensuing duel with the keenest excitement. 

The battery's first two ranging shots dropped 
in a neat bracket, one over and one short; in 
the next two the bracket closed, the shorter shot 
being almost on top of the target. This evi- 
dently gave the range closely enough, and the 
whole battery burst into a roar of fire, the blaz- 
ing flashes running up and down the line of 
guns like the reports of a gigantic Chinese 
cracker. Over the long team of the German 
gun a thick cloud of white smoke hung heavily, 
burst following upon burst and hail after hail of 
shrapnel sweeping the men and horses below. 
Then through the crashing reports of the guns 
and the whimpering rush of their shells' pas- 
sage, there came a long whistling scream that 
rose and rose and broke off abruptly in a deep 
rolling cr-r-r-rump. A spout of brown earth 
and thick black smoke showed where the enemy 
shell had burst far out in front of the battery. 

The infantry colonel watched anxiously. He 
knew that out there somewhere another heavy 
German gun had come into action ; he knew that 
it was a good deal slower in its rate of fire, but 
that once it had secured its line and range it 
could practically obliterate the light field guns 
of the battery. The battery was fighting 



74 ACTION FEONT 

against time and the German gunners to com- 
plete their task before they could be silenced. 
The first team was crippled and destroyed, and 
another team, rushed out from the cover of the 
trees, was fallen upon by the shrapnel tornado, 
and likewise swept out of existence. 

Then another shell from the German gun 
roared over, to burst this time well in the rear 
of the battery. 

The colonel knew what this meant. The 
German gun had got its bracket. The battery 
had ceased to fire shrapnel, and was pouring 
high-explosive about the derelict gun. The 
white bursts of shrapnel had given place to a 
series of spouting volcanoes that leaped from 
the ground about the gun itself. Another Ger- 
man shell fell in front of the battery and a good 
200 yards nearer to it. A movement below at- 
tracted the colonel's attention, and he saw the 
huddled teams straighten out and canter hard 
towards the guns. He turned his glasses on the 
German gun again, and could not restrain a cry 
of delight as he saw it collapsed and lying on its 
side, while high-explosive shells still pelted 
about it. 

The teams came up at a gallop, swept round 
the guns, and halted. Instantly they were 
hooked in, the buried spades of the guns 
wrenched free, the wheels manned, the trails 
dropped clashing on the limber hooks. And as 



DRILL 75 

they dropped, another heavy shell soared over 
and burst behind the battery, so close this time 
that the pieces shrieked and spun about the 
guns, wounding three horses and a couple of 
men. The Major, mounted and waiting, cast 
quick glances from gun to gun. The instant he 
saw they were ready he signaled an order, the 
drivers' spurs clapped home, and the whips rose 
and fell whistling and snapping. The battery- 
jerked forward at a walk that broke immedi- 
ately into a trot, and from that to a hard canter. 

Even above the clatter and roll of the wheels 
and the hammering hoof -beats the whistle and 
rush of another heavy shell could be heard. 
Gunner Donovan, twisted sideways and clinging 
close to the jolting seat, heard the sound grow- 
ing louder and louder, until it sounded so close 
that it seemed the shell was going to drop on 
top of them. But it fell behind them, and ex- 
actly on the position where the battery had 
stood. Donovan's eye caught the blinding flash 
of the burst, the springing of a thick cloud of 
black smoke. A second later something 
shrieked hurtling down and past his gun team, 
and struck with a vicious thump into the 
ground. 

' ' That was near enough," shouted Mick, on 
the seat beside him. Donovan craned over as 
they passed, and saw, half-buried in the soft 
ground, the battered brass of one of their own 



76 ACTION FEONT 

shell cartridges. The heavy shell had landed 
fairly on top of the spot where their gun had 
stood, where the empty cartridge cases had been 
flung in a heap from the breech. If they had 
been ten or twenty seconds later in getting clear, 
if they had taken a few seconds longer over the 
coming into action or limbering up, a few sec- 
onds more to the firing of their rounds, the 
whole gun and detachment . . . 

Gunner Donovan leaned across to Mick and 
shouted loudly. 

But his remark was so apparently irrelevant 
that Mick failed to understand. A sudden skid- 
ding swerve as the team wheeled nearly jerked 
him off his seat, the crackling bursts of half a 
dozen light shells over the plain behind him dis- 
tracted his attention for a moment further. 
Then he leaned in towards Donovan, "What 
was that?" he yelled. "What didjer say?" 

Donovan repeated his remark. "Gawd — 
bless— old 'Cut-the-Time.' " 

The battery plunged in amongst the trees, 
and into safety. 



A NIGHT PATROL 

"During the night, only patrol and recon- 
noitering engagements of small consequence are 
reported/' — Extract from Despatch. 

" Straff the Germans and all their works, 
particularly their mine works!" said Lieuten- 
ant Ainsley disgustedly. 

"Seeing that's exactly what you're told off 
to do," said the other occupant of the dug-out, 
"why grouse about it?" 

Lieutenant Ainsley laughed. "That's true 
enough, ' ' he admitted ; * ' although I fancy going 
out on patrol in this weather and on this part 
of the line would be enough to make Mark Tap- 
ley himself grouse. However, it's all in the 
course of a lifetime, I suppose." 

He completed the fastening of his mackin- 
tosh, felt that the revolver on his belt moved 
freely from its holster, and that the wire nip- 
pers were in place, pulled his soft cap well down 
on his head, grunted a "Good-night," and 
dropped on his hands and knees to crawl out of 
the dug-out. 

He made his way along the forward firing 

77 



78 ACTION FEONT 

trench to where his little patrol party awaited 
his coming, and having seen that they were 
properly equipped and fully laden with bombs, 
and securing a number of these for his own use, 
he issued careful instructions to the men to 
crawl over the parapet one at a time, being cau- 
tious to do so only in the intervals of darkness 
between the flaring lights. 

He was a little ahead of the appointed time ; 
and because the trench generally had been 
warned not to fire at anyone moving out in 
front at a certain hour, it was necessary to wait 
until then exactly. He told the men to wait, 
and spent the interval in smoking a cigarette. 
As he lit it the thought came to him that per- 
haps it was the last cigarette he would ever 
smoke. He tried to dismiss the thought, but it 
persisted uncomfortably. He argued with him- 
self and told himself that he mustn't get jumpy, 
that the surest way to get shot was to be ner- 
vous about being shot, that the job was bad 
enough but was only made worse by worrying 
about it. As a relief and distraction to his own 
thoughts, he listened to catch the low remarks 
that were passing between the men of his 
party. 

" When I get home after this job's done," one 
of them was saying, "I'm going to look for a 
billet as stoker in the gas works, or sign on in 
one o' them factories that roll red-hot steel 



A NIGHT PATROL 79 

plates and you 'ave to wear an asbestos sack to 
keep yourself from firing. After this I want 
something as hot and as dry as I can find it." 

"I think," said another, "my job's going to 
be barman in a nice snug little public with a 
fire in the bar parlor and red blinds on the win- 
dow." 

"Why don't you pick a job that'll be easy 
to get?" said the third, with deep sarcasm — 
"say Prime Minister, or King of England. 
You've about as much chance of getting them 
as the other." 

Lieutenant Ainsley grinned to himself in the 
darkness. At least, he thought, these men have 
no doubts about their coming back in safety 
from this patrol ; but then of course it was eas- 
ier for them because they did not know the full 
detail of the risk they ran. But it was no use 
thinking of that again, he told himself. 

He took his place in readiness, waited until 
one flare had burned out and there was no im- 
mediate sign of another being thrown up, 
slipped over the parapet and dropped flat in 
the mud on the other side. One by one the men 
crawled over and dropped beside him, and then 
slowly and cautiously, with the officer leading, 
they began to wend their way out under their 
own entanglements. 

There may be some who will wonder that an 
officer should feel such qualms as Ainsley had 



80 ACTION FEONT 

over the simple job of a night patrol over the 
open ground in front of the German trench; 
but, then, there are patrols and patrols, or as 
the inattentive recruit at the gunnery class said 
when he was asked to describe the varieties of 
shells he had been told of: " There are some 
sorts of one kind, and some of another.' ' 

There are plenty of parts on the Western 
Front where affairs at intervals settled down 
into such a peaceful state that there was noth- 
ing more than a fair sporting risk attaching to 
the performance of a patrol which leaves the 
shelter of our own lines at night to crawl out 
amongst the barbed wire entanglements in the 
darkness. There have been times when you 
might listen at night by the hour together and 
hardly hear a rifle-shot, and when the burst of 
artillery fire was a thing to be commented on. 
But at other times, and in some parts of the line 
especially, business was run on very different 
lines. Then every man in the forward firing- 
trench had a certain number of rounds to fire 
each night, even although he had no definite tar- 
get to fire at. Magnesium flares and pistol 
lights were kept going almost without ceasing, 
while the artillery made a regular practice of 
loosing off a stated number of rounds per 
night. The Germans worked on fairly similar 
lines, and as a result it can easily be imagined 
that any patrol or reconnoitering work between 



A NIGHT PATROL 81 

the lines was apt to be exceedingly unhealthy. 
Actually there were parts on the line where no 
feet had pressed the ground of No Man's Land 
for weeks on end, unless in open attack or coun- 
ter-attack, and of these feet there were a good 
many that never returned to the trench, and a 
good many others that did return only to walk 
straight to the nearest aid-post and hospital. 

The neutral ground at this period of Ains- 
ley's patrol was a sea of mud, broken by heaped 
earth and yawning shell-craters; strung about 
with barbed wire entanglements, littered with 
equipments and with packs which had been cut 
from or slipped from the shoulders of the 
wounded; dotted more or less thickly with the 
bodies of British or German who had fallen 
there and could not be reached alive by any 
stretcher-bearer parties. Unpleasant as was 
the coming in contact with these bodies, Ains- 
ley knew that their being there was of consid- 
erable service to him. He and his men crawled 
in a scattered line, and whenever the upward 
trail of sparks showed that a flare was about 
to burst into light, the whole party dropped 
and lay still until the light had burned itself 
out. Any Germans looking out could only see 
their huddled forms lying as still as the thickly 
scattered dead; could not know but what the 
party was of their number. 

It was necessary to move with the most ex- 



82 ACTION FRONT 

treme caution, because the slightest motion 
might catch the attention of a look-out, and 
would certainly draw the fire of a score of rifles 
and probably of a machine-gun. The first part 
of the journey was the worst, because they 
had to cover a perfectly open piece of ground 
on their way to the slight depression which 
Ainsley knew ran curling across the neutral 
ground. Wide and shallow at the end nearest 
the British trench, this depression narrowed 
and deepened as it ran slantingly towards the 
German; halfway across, it turned abruptly 
and continued towards the German side on 
another slant, and at a point about halfway 
between the elbow and the German trench, came 
very close to an exploded mine-crater, which 
was the objective of this night's patrol. 

It was supposed, or at least suspected, that 
the mine-crater was being made the starting- 
point of a tunnel to run under the British 
trench, and Ainsley had been told off to find out 
if possible whether this suspicion was correct, 
and if so to do what damage he could to the 
mine entrance and the miners by bombing. 

When his party reached the shallow depres- 
sion, they moved cautiously along it, and to 
Ainsley 's relief reached the elbow in safety. 
Here they were a good deal more protected 
from the German fire than they could be at any 
point, because from here the depression was 



A NIGHT PATROL 83 

fully a couple of feet deep and had its high- 
est bank next the German trench. Ainsley led 
his men at a fairly rapid crawl along the ditch, 
until he had passed the point nearest to the 
mine-crater. Here he halted his men, and with 
infinite caution crawled out to reconnoiter. The 
men, who had been carefully instructed in the 
part they were to play, waited huddling in 
silence under the bank for his return, or for 
the fusillade of fire that would tell he was 
discovered. Immediately in front of the crater 
was a patch of open ground without a single 
body lying in it; and Ainsley knew that if he 
were seen lying there where no body had been 
a minute before, the German who saw him 
would unhesitatingly place a bullet in him. A 
bank of earth several feet high had been thrown 
up by the mine explosion in a ring round the 
crater, and although this covered him from the 
observation of the trench immediately behind 
the mine, he knew that he could be seen from 
very little distance out on the flank, and decided 
to abandon his crawling progress for once and 
risk a quick dash across the open. For long 
he waited what seemed a favorable moment, 
watched carefully in an endeavor to locate the 
nearer positions in the German trench from 
which lights were being thrown up, and to time 
the periods between them. 
At last three lights were thrown and burned 



84 ACTION FRONT 

almost simultaneously within the area over 
which he calculated the illumination would ex- 
pose him. The instant the last nicker of the third 
light died out, he leaped to his feet, and made 
a rush. The lights had shown him a scanty few 
rows of barbed wire between him and the 
crater; he had reckoned roughly the number of 
steps to it and counted as he ran, then more 
cautiously pushed on, feeling for the wire, 
found it, threw himself down, and began to 
wriggle desperately underneath. When he 
thought he was through the last, he rose; but 
he had miscalculated, and the first step brought 
his thighs in scratching contact with another 
wire. His heart was in his mouth, for some 
seconds had passed since the last light had 
died and he knew that another one must flare 
up at any instant. Sweeping his arm down- 
ward and forward, he could feel no wire higher 
than the one which had pricked his legs. There 
was no time now to fiddle about avoiding tears 
and scratches. He swung over the wire, first 
one leg, then another, felt his mackintosh catch, 
dragged it free with a screech of ripping cloth 
that brought his heart to his mouth, turned and 
rushed again for the crater. As he ran, first 
one light, then another, soared upwards and 
broke out into balls of vivid white light that 
showed the crater within a dozen steps. It was 
no time for caution, and everything depended 



A NIGHT PATROL 85 

on the blind luck of whether a German look- 
out had his eyes on that spot at that moment. 
Without hesitation, he continued his rush to 
the foot of the mound on the crater's edge, 
hurled himself down on it and lay panting and 
straining his ears for the sounds of shots and 
whistling bullets that would tell him he was dis- 
covered. But the lights flared and burned out, 
leaped afresh and died out again, and there 
was no sign that he had been seen. For the 
moment he felt reasonably secure. The earth 
on the crater's rim was broken and irregular, 
the surface an eye-deceiving patchwork of 
broken light and black heavy shadow under the 
glare of the flying lights. The mackintosh he 
wore was caked and plastered with mud, and 
blended well with the background on which 
he lay. He took care to keep his arms in, to 
sink his head well into his rounded shoulders, 
to curl his feet and legs up under the skirt of 
his mackintosh, knowing well from his own ex- 
perience that where the outline of a body is 
vague and easily escapes notice, a head or an 
arm, or especially and particularly a booted 
foot and leg, will stand out glaringly distinct. 
As he lay, he placed his ear to the muddy 
ground, but could hear no sound of mining 
operations beneath him. Foot by foot he 
hitched himself upward to the rim of the 



86 ACTION FRONT 

crater's edge, and again lay and listened for 
thrilling long-drawn minute after minute. 

Suddenly his heart jumped and his flesh went 
cold. Unmistakingly he heard the scuffle and 
swish of footsteps on the wet ground, the mur- 
mur of voices apparently within a yard or two 
of his head. There were men in the mine- 
crater, and, from the sound of their move- 
ments, they were creeping out on a patrol simi- 
lar to his own, perhaps, and, as near as he 
could judge, on a line that would bring them 
directly on top of him. The scuffling passed 
slowly in front of him and for a few yards along 
the inside of the crater. The sound of the 
murmuring voices passed suddenly from con- 
fused dullness to a sharp clearer-edged speech, 
telling Ainsley, as plainly as if he could see, 
that the speaker had risen from behind the 
sound-deadening ridge of earth and was looking 
clear over its top. Ainsley lay as still as one 
of the clods of earth about him, lay scarcely 
daring to breathe, and with his skin pringling. 
There was a pause that may have been sec- 
onds, but that felt like hours. He did not dare 
move his head to look; he could only wait in 
an agony of apprehension with his flesh shrink- 
ing from the blow of a bullet that he knew 
would be the first announcement of his discov- 
ery. But the stillness was unbroken, and pres- 
ently, to his infinite relief, he heard again the 



A NIGHT PATROL 87 

guttural voices and the sliding footsteps pass 
back across his front, and gradually diminish. 
But he would not let his impatience risk the 
success of his enterprise ; he lay without mov- 
ing a muscle for many long and nervous min- 
utes. At last he began to hitch himself slowly, 
an inch at a time, along the edge of the crater 
away from the point to which the German look- 
out had moved. He halted and lay still again 
when his ear caught a fresh murmur of gut- 
tural voices, the trampling of many footsteps, 
and once or twice the low but clear clink of an 
iron tool in the crater beneath him. 

It seemed fairly certain that the Germans 
were occupying the crater, were either making 
it the starting-point of a mine tunnel, or were 
fortifying it as a defensive point. But it was 
not enough to surmise these things; he must 
make sure, and, if possible, bomb the work- 
ing party or the entrance to the mine tunnel. 
He continued to work his way along the rim 
of the crater's edge. Arrived at a position 
where he expected to be able to see the likeliest 
point of the crater for a mine working to com- 
mence, he took the final and greatest chance. 
Moving only in the intervals of darkness be- 
tween the lights, he dragged the mackintosh up 
on his shoulders until the edge of its deep col- 
lar came above the top of his head, opened the 
throat and spread it wide to disguise any out- 



88 ACTION FRONT 

line of his head and neck, found a suitable hol- 
low on the edge of the ridge, and boldly thrust 
his head over to look downwards into the hole. 

When the next light flared, he found that he 
could see the opposite wall and perhaps a third 
of the bottom of the hole, with the head and 
shoulders of two or three men moving about it. 
When the light died, he hitched forward and 
again lay still. This time the light showed him 
what he had come to seek: the black opening 
of a tunnel mouth in the wall of the crater near- 
est the British line, a dozen men busily en- 
gaged dragging sacks-full of earth from the 
opening, and emptying them outside the shaft. 
He waited while several lights burned, mark- 
ing as carefully as possible the outline of the 
ridge immediately above the mine shaft, en- 
deavoring to pick a mark that would locate its 
position from above it. It had begun to rain in 
a thin drizzling mist, and although this ob- 
scured the outline of the crater to some extent, 
its edge stood out well against the glow of 
such lights as were thrown up from the British 
side. 

It was now well after midnight, and the firing 
on both sides had slackened considerably, al- 
though there was still an irregular rattle of 
rifle fire, the distant boom of a gun and the 
scream of its shell passing overhead. A good 
deal emboldened by his freedom from discov- 



A NIGHT PATROL 89 

ery and by the misty rain, Ainsley slid back- 
wards, moved round the crater, crept back to 
the barbed wire and under it, ran across the 
opening on the other side and dropped into 
the hole where he had left his men. He found 
them waiting patiently, stretched full length in 
the wet discomfort of the soaking ground, but 
enduring it philosophically and concerned, ap- 
parently, only for his welfare. 

His sergeant puffed a huge sigh of relief at 
his return. 6 ' I was just about beginning to 
think you had 'gone west,' sir," he said, "and 
wondering whether I oughtn't to come and 'ave 
a look for you." 

Ainsley explained what had happened and 
what he had seen. "I'm going back, and I 
want you all to come with me," he said. "I'm 
going to shove every bomb we 've got down that 
mine shaft. If we meet with any luck, we should 
wreck it up pretty well." 

"I suppose, sir," said the sergeant, "if we 
can plant a bomb or two in the right spot, it 
will bottle up any Germans working inside?" 

"Sure to!" said Ainsley. "It will cave in 
the entrance completely; and then as soon as 
we get back, we '11 give the gunners the tip, and 
leave them to keep on lobbing some shells in 
and breaking up any attempt to reopen the 
shaft and dig out the mining party." 

"Billy!" said one of the men, in an audible 



90 ACTION FRONT 

aside, " don't you wish you was a merry little 
German down that blinkin' tunnel, to-night !" 
"Imphim," answered Billy, "I don't think!" 
Ainsley explained his plan of campaign, saw 
that everything was in readiness, and led his 
party out. The misty rain was still falling, 
and, counting on this to hide them sufficiently 
from observation if they lay still while any 
lights were burning, they crawled rapidly 
across the open, wriggled underneath the wires, 
cut one or two of them — especially any which 
were low enough to interfere with free move- 
ment under them — and crawled along to the 
crater. 

Ainsley left the party sprawling flat at the 
foot of the rim, while he crept up to locate the 
position over the mine shaft. Each man had 
brought about a dozen small bombs and one 
large one packed with high explosive. Before 
leaving the ditch, on Ainsley 's directions, each 
man tied his own lot in one bundle, bringing the 
ends of the fuses together and tying them se- 
curely with their ends as nearly as possible 
level, so that they could be lit at the same time. 
Each man had with him one of those tinder 
pipe-lighters which are ignited by the sparks 
of a little twirled wheel. When Ainsley had 
placed the men on the edge of the crater, he 
gave the word, and each man lit his tinder, 
holding it so as to be sheltered from sight from 



A NIGHT PATROL 91 

the German trench, behind the flap of his mack- 
intosh. Then each took a separate piece of 
fuse about a foot long, and, at a whispered 
word from Ainsley, pressed the end into the 
glowing tinder. Almost at the same instant 
the four fuses began to burn, throwing out a 
fizzing jet of sparks. Each man knew that, 
shelter them as they would from observation, 
the sparks were almost certain to betray them ; 
but although some rifles began at once to crack 
spasmodically and the bullets to whistle over- 
head, each man went on with the allotted pro- 
gram steadily, without haste and without flus- 
ter, devoting all their attention to the proper 
igniting of the bomb-fuses, and leaving what 
might follow to take care of itself. As his 
length of fuse caught, each man said " Ready' ' 
in a low tone; Ainsley immediately said 
' i Light !" and each instantly directed the jet 
of sparks as from a tiny hose into the tied 
bundle of the bomb-fuses' ends. The instant 
each man saw his own bundle well ignited, he 
reported "Lit!" and thrust the fuse ends well 
into the soft mud. Being so waterproofed as 
to burn if necessary completely under water, 
this made no difference to the fuses, except 
that it smothered the sparks and showed only 
a curling smoke-wreath. But the first sparks 
had evidently been seen, for the bomb party 
heard shoutings and a rapidly increasing fire 



92 ACTION FRONT 

from the German lines. A light flamed upward 
near the mine-crater. Ainsley said, "Now! — 
and take good aim." The men scrambled to 
their knees and, leaning well over until they 
could see the black entrance of the mine shaft, 
tossed their bundles of bombs as nearly as they 
could into and around it. In the pit below, 
Ainsley had a momentary glimpse of half a 
dozen faces, gleaming white in the strong 
light, upturned, and staring at him ; from some- 
where down there a pistol snapped twice, and 
the bullets hissed past over their heads. The 
party ducked back below the ridge of earth, 
and as a rattle of rifle fire commenced to break 
out along the whole length of the German line, 
they lit from their tinder the fuses of a couple 
of bombs specially reserved for the purpose, 
and tossed them as nearly as they could into 
the German trench, a score of paces away. 
Their fuses being cut much shorter than the 
others, the bombs exploded almost instantly, 
and Ainsley and his party leapt down to the 
level ground and raced across to the wire. 

By now the whole line had caught the alarm ; 
the rifle fire had swelled to a crackling roar, the 
bullets were whistling and storming across the 
open. In desperate haste they threw them- 
selves down and wriggled under the wire, and 
as they did so they felt the earth beneath them 
jar and quiver, heard a double and triple roar 



A NIGHT PATROL 93 

from behind them, saw the wet ground in front 
of them and the wires overhead glow for an 
instant with rosy light as the fire of the ex- 
plosion flamed upwards from the crater. 

At the crashing blast of the discharge, the 
rifle fire was hushed for a moment; Ainsley 
saw the chance and shouted to his men, and, as 
they scrambled clear of the wire, they jumped 
to their feet, rushed back over the flat, and 
dropped panting in the shelter of the ditch. 
The rifle fire opened again more heavily than 
ever, and the bullets were hailing and splash- 
ing and thudding into the wet earth around 
them, but the bank protected them well, and 
they took the fullest advantage of its cover. 
Because the depression they were in shallowed 
and afforded less cover as it ran towards the 
British lines, it was safer for the party to 
stay where they were until the fire slackened 
enough to give them a fair sporting chance of 
crawling back in safety. 

They lay there for fully two hours before 
Ainsley considered it safe enough to move. 
They were, of course, long since wet through, 
and by now were chilled and numbed to the 
bone. Two of the men had been wounded, but 
only very slightly in clean flesh wounds: one 
through the arm and one in the flesh over the 
upper ribs. Ainsley himself bandaged both 
men as well as he could in the darkness and 



94 ACTION FEONT 

the cramped position necessary to keep below 
the level of the flying bullets, and both men, 
when he had finished, assured him that they 
were quite comfortable and entirely free from 
pain. Ainsley doubted this, and because of it 
was the more impatient to get back to their 
own lines; but he restrained his impatience, 
lest it should result in any of his party suf- 
fering another and more serious wound. At 
last the rifle fire had died down to about the 
normal night rate, had indeed dropped at the 
finish so rapidly in the space of two or three 
minutes that Ainsley concluded fresh orders 
for the slower rate must have been passed along 
the German lines. He gave the word, and they 
began to creep slowly back, moving again only 
when no lights were burning. 

There were some gaspings and groanings as 
the men commenced to move their stiffened 
limbs. 

"I never knew," gasped one, " as I'd so many 
joints in my backbone, and that each one of 
them could hold so many aches.' ' 

' ' Same like ! ' ' said another. * ' If you '11 listen, 
you can hear my knees and hips creaking like 
the rusty hinges of an old barn-door." 

Although the men spoke in low tones, Ains- 
ley whispered a stern command for silence. 

"We're not so far away," he said, "but that 
a voice might carry; and you can bet they're 



A NIGHT PATROL 95 

jumpy enough for the rest of the night to shoot 
at the shadow of a whisper. Now come along, 
and keep low, and drop the instant a light 
flares." 

They crawled back a score or so of yards that 
brought them to the elbow-turn of the depres- 
sion. The bank of the turn was practically the 
last cover they could count upon, because here 
the ditch shallowed and widened and was, in 
addition, more or less open to enfilading fire 
from the German side. 

Ainsley halted the men and whispered to 
them that as soon as they cleared the ditch they 
were to crawl out into open order, starting as 
soon as darkness fell after the next light. Next 
moment they commenced to move, and as they 
did so Ainsley fancied he heard a stealthy rus- 
tling in the grass immediately in front of him. 
It occurred to him that their long delay might 
have led to the sending out of a search party, 
and he was on the point of whispering an or- 
der back to the men to halt, while he investi- 
gated, when a couple of pistol lights flared 
upwards, lighting the ground immediately 
about them. To his surprise — surprise was his 
only feeling for the moment — he found himself 
staring into a bearded face not six feet from 
his own, and above the face was the little round 
flat cap that marked the man a German. 

Both he and the German saw each other at 



96 ACTION FRONT 

the same instant; but because the same immi- 
nent peril was over each, each instinctively 
dropped flat to the wet ground. Ainsley had 
just time to glimpse the movement of other 
three or four gray-coated figures as they also 
fell flat. Next instant, he heard his sergeant's 
voice, hurried and sharp with warning, but still 
low toned. 

"Look out, sir! There's a big Boche just 
in front of you." 

Ainsley "sh-sh-shed" him to v silence, and at 
the same time was a little amused and a great 
deal relieved to hear the German in front of 
him similarly hush down the few low exclama- 
tions of his party. The flare was still burn- 
ing, and Ainsley, twisting his head, was able 
to look across the muddy grass at the German 
eyes staring anxiously into his own. 

' ' Do not move ! ' ' said Ainsley, wondering to 
himself if the man understood English, and 
fumbling in vain in his mind for the German 
phrase that would express his meaning. 

"Kamarade — eh?" grunted the German, 
with a note of interrogation that left no doubt 
as to his meaning. 

"Nein, nein!" answered Ainsley. "You 
kamarade — sie kamarade." 

The other, in somewhat voluble gutturals, 
insisted that Ainsley must "kamarade," other- 
wise surrender. He spoke too fast for Ains- 



A NIGHT PATROL 97 

ley's very limited knowledge of German to fol- 
low, but at least, to Ainsley's relief, there was 
for the moment no motion towards hostilities 
on either side. The Germans recognized, no 
doubt as he did, that the first sign of a shot, 
the first wink of a rifle flash out there in the 
open, would bring upon them a blaze of light 
and a storm of rifle and maxim bullets. Even 
although his party had slightly the advantage 
of position in the scanty cover of the ditch, he 
was not at all inclined to bring about another 
burst of firing, particularly as he was not sure 
that some excitable individuals in his own 
trench would not forget about his party being 
in the open and hail indiscriminate bullets in 
the direction of a rifle flash, or even the sound 
of indiscreetly loud talking. 

Painfully, in very broken German, and a 
word or two at a time, he tried to make his en- 
emy understand that it was his, the German 
party, that must surrender, pointing out as an 
argument that they were nearer to the British 
than to the German lines. The German, how- 
ever, discounted this argument by stating that 
he had one more man in his party than Ains- 
ley had, and must therefore claim the privi- 
lege of being captor. 

The voice of his own sergeant close behind 
him spoke in a hoarse undertone: " Shall I 
blow a blinkin' 'ole in 'im, sir? I could do 'im 



98 ACTION FRONT 

in acrost your shoulder, as easy as kiss my 
'and." 

"No, no!" said Ainsley hurriedly; "a shot 
here would raise the mischief." 

At the same time he heard some of the other 
Germans speak to the man in front of him and 
discovered that they were addressing him as 
"Sergeant." 

"Sie ein sergeant?" he questioned, and on 
the German admitting that he was a sergeant, 
Ainsley, with more fumbling after German 
words and phrases, explained that he was an 
officer, and that therefore his, an officer's pa- 
trol, took precedence over that of a mere ser- 
geant. He had a good deal of difficulty in mak- 
ing this clear to the German — either because 
the sergeant was particularly thick-witted or 
possibly because Ainsley 's German was par- 
ticularly bad. Ainsley inclined to put it down 
to the German's stupidity, and he began to 
grow exceedingly wroth over the business. Nat- 
urally it never occurred to him that he should 
surrender to the German, but it annoyed him 
exceedingly that the German should have any 
similar feelings about surrendering to him. 
Once more he bent his persuasive powers and 
indifferent German to the task of over-per- 
suading the sergeant, and in return had to wait 
and slowly unravel some meaning from the odd 



A NIGHT PATROL 99 

words he could catch here and there in the ser- 
geant's endeavor to over-persuade him. 

He began to think at last that there was no 
way out of it but that suggested by his own ser- 
geant — namely, to "blow a blinkin' 'ole in 
'im," and his sergeant spoke again with the 
rattle of his chattering teeth playing a Casta- 
net accompaniment to his words. 

"If you don't mind, sir, we'd all like to fight 
it out and make a run for it. We're all about 
froze stiff*." 

"I'm just about fed up with this fool, too," 
said Ainsley disgustedly. "Look here, all of 
you! Watch me when the next light goes up. 
If you see me grab my pistol, pick your man 
and shoot." 

The voice of the German sergeant broke 
in: — 

"Nein, nein!" and then in English: "You 
no shoot! You shoot, and uns shoot alzo!" 

Ainsley listened to the stammering English 
in an amazement that gave way to overwhelm- 
ing anger. "Here," he said angrily, "can you 
speak English?" 

"Ein leetle, just ein leetle," replied the Ger- 
man. 

But at that and at the memory of the long 
minutes spent there lying in the mud with 
chilled and frozen limbs trying to talk in Ger- 
man, at the time wasted, at his own stumbling 



100 ACTION FEONT 

German and the probable amusement his gram- 
matical mistakes had given the others — the last, 
the Englishman's dislike to being laughed at, 
being perhaps the strongest factor — Ainsley's 
anger overcame him. 

"You miserable blighter !" he said wrath- 
fully. "You have the blazing cheek to keep me 
lying here in this filthy muck, mumbling and 
bungling over your beastly German, and then 
calmly tell me that you understand English all 
the time. 

"Why couldn't you say you spoke English? 
What? D'you think IVe nothing better to do 
than lie out here in a puddle of mud listening 
to you jabbering your beastly lingo f Silly ass ! 
You saw that I didn't know German properly, 
to begin with — why couldn't you say you spoke 
English?" 

But in his anger he had raised his voice a 
good deal above the safety limit, and the quick 
crackle of rifle fire and the soaring lights told 
that his voice had been heard, that the party 
or parties were discovered or suspected. 

The rest followed so quickly, the action was 
so rapid and unpremeditated, that Ainsley 
never quite remembered its sequence. He has 
a confused memory of seeing the wet ground 
illumined by many lights, of drumming rifle 
fire and hissing bullets, and then, immediately 
after, the rush and crash of a couple of Ger- 



A NIGHT PATROL 101 

man " Fizz-Bang' ' shells. Probably it was the 
wet plop of some of the backward-flung bul- 
lets about him, possibly it was the movement 
of the German sergeant that wiped out the in- 
stinctive desire to flatten himself close to 
ground that drove him to instant action. The 
sergeant half lurched to his knees, thrusting 
forward the muzzle of his rifle. Ainsley 
clutched at the revolver in his holster, but be- 
fore he could free it another shell crashed, the 
German jerked forward as if struck by a bat- 
tering-ram between the shoulders, lay with 
white fingers clawing and clutching at the 
muddy grass. A momentary darkness fell, and 
Ainsley just had a glimpse of a knot of strug- 
gling figures, of the knot 's falling apart with a 
clash of steel, of a rifle spouting a long tongue 
of flame . . . and then a group of lights blazed 
again and disclosed the figures of his own three 
men crouching and glancing about them. 

Of all these happenings Ainsley retains only 
a very jumbled recollection, but he remembers 
very distinctly his savage satisfaction at seeing 
"that fool sergeant* ' downed and the unap- 
peased anger he still felt with him. He carried 
that anger back to his own trench; it still 
burned hot in him as they floundered and wal- 
lowed for interminable seconds over the greasy 
mud with the bullets slapping and smacking 
about them, as they wrenched and struggled 



102 ACTION FRONT 

over their own wire — where Ainsley, as it hap- 
pened, had to wait to help his sergeant, who 
for all the advantage of their initiative in the 
attack and in the Germans being barely risen 
to meet it, had been caught by a bayonet- 
thrust in the thigh — the scramble across the 
parapet and hurried roll over into the water- 
logged trench. 

He arrived there wet to the skin and chilled 
to the bone, with his shoulder stinging abomi- 
nably from the ragged tear of a ricochet bullet 
that had caught him in the last second on the 
parapet, and, above all, still filled with a con- 
suming anger against the German sergeant. 
Five minutes later, in the Battalion H.Q. dug- 
out, in making his report to the O.C. while the 
Medical dressed his arm, he only gave the bar- 
est and briefest account of his successful pa- 
trol and bombing work, but descanted at full 
length and with lurid wrath on the incident of 
the German patrol. 

"When I think of that ignorant beast of a 
sergeant keeping me out there,' ' he concluded 
disgustedly, "mumbling and spluttering over 
his confounded 'yaw, yaw' and 'nein, nem,' 
trying to scrape up odd German words — which 
I probably got all wrong — to make him un- 
derstand, and him all the time quite well able 
to speak good enough English — that's what 



A NIGHT PATROL 103 

beats me — why couldn't lie say he spoke Eng- 
lish?" 

"Well, anyhow," said the O.C. consolingly, 
"from what you tell me, he's dead now." 

"I hope so," said Ainsley viciously, "and 
serve him jolly well right. But just think of 
the trouble it might have saved if he'd only 
said at first that he spoke English ! ' ' He sput- 
tered wrathfully again: "Silly ass! Why 
couldn't he just say so?" 



AS OTHERS SEE 

"It may now be divulged that, some time ago, 
the British lines were extended for a consid- 
erable distance to the South," — Extract from 
Official Dispatch. 

The first notice that the men of the Tower 
Bridge Foot had that they were to move out- 
side the territory they had learned so well in 
many weary marches and wanderings in net- 
works and mazes of trenches, was when they 
crossed a road which had for long marked the 
boundary line between the grounds occupied by 
the British and French forces. 

"Do you suppose the O.C. is drunk, or that 
the guide has lost his way?" said Private Rob- 
inson. "Somebody ought to tell him we're off 
our beat and that trespassers will be prosecuted. 
Not but what he don't know that, seeing he 
prosecuted me cruel six months ago for roving 
off into the French lines — said if I did it again 
I might be took for a spy and shot. Anyhow, 
I'd be took for being where I was out o' bounds 
and get a dose of Field Punishment. Wonder 
where we're bound for?" 

104 






AS OTHERS SEE 105 

1 * Don't see as it matters much," said his next 
file. "I suppose one wet field's as good as an- 
other to sleep in, so why worry?" 

A little farther on, the battalion met a French 
Infantry Regiment on the march. The French 
regiment's road discipline was rather more lax 
than the British, and many tolerantly amused 
criticisms were passed on the loose formation, 
the lack of keeping step, and the straggling 
lines of the French. The criticisms, curiously 
enough, came in a great many cases from the 
very men in the Towers' ranks who had often 
"groused" most at the silliness of themselves 
being kept up to the mark in these matters. 
The marching Frenchmen were singing — but 
singing in a fashion quite novel to the British. 
Throughout their column there were anything 
up to a dozen songs in progress, some as 
choruses and some as solos, and the effect was 
certainly rather weird. The Tower Bridge of- 
ficers, knowing their own men's fondness for 
swinging march songs, expected, and, to tell 
truth, half hoped that they would give a display 
of their harmonious powers. They did, but 
hardly in the expected fashion. One man de- 
manded in a growling bass that the "Home 
Fires be kept Burning," while another bade 
farewell to Leicester Square in a high falsetto. 
The giggling Towers caught the idea instantly, 
and a confused medley of hymns, music-hall 



106 ACTION FEONT 

ditties, and patriotic songs in every key, from 
the deepest bellowing bass to the shrillest wail- 
ing treble, arose from the Towers' ranks, mixed 
with whistles and cat-calls and Corporal Flan- 
nigan's famous imitation of "Life on a Farm. ,, 
The joke lasted the Towers for the rest of that 
march, and as sure as any Frenchman met or 
overtook them on the road he was treated to 
a vocal entertainment that must have left him 
forever convinced of the rumored potency of 
British rum. 

By now word had passed round the Towers 
that they were to take over a portion of the 
trenches hitherto occupied by the French. 
Many were the doubts, and many were the ar- 
guments, as to whether this would or would not 
be to the personal advantage and comfort of 
themselves; but at least it made a change of 
scene and surroundings from those they had 
learned for months past, and since such a 
change is as the breath of life to the British sol- 
dier, they were on the whole highly pleased 
with it. 

The morning was well advanced when they 
were met by guides and interpreters from the 
French regiment which they were relieving, and 
commenced to move into the new trenches. Al- 
though at first there were some who were in- 
clined to criticize, and reluctant to believe that 
a Frenchman, or any other foreigner, could do 



AS OTHERS SEE 107 

or make anything better than an Englishman, 
the Towers had to admit, even before they 
reached the forward firing trench, that the work 
of making communication trenches had been 
done in a manner beyond British praise. The 
trenches were narrow and very deep, neatly 
paved throughout their length with brick, 
spaced at regular intervals with sunk traps for 
draining off rain-water, and with bays and 
niches cut deep in the side to permit the pass- 
ing of any one meeting a line of pack-burdened 
men in the shoulder-wide alley-way. 

When they reached the forward firing trench, 
their admiration became unbounded ; they were 
as full of eager curiosity as children on a school 
picnic. They fraternized instantly and warmly 
with the outgoing Frenchmen, and the French- 
men for their part were equally eager to ex- 
press friendship, to show the English the dug- 
outs, the handy little contrivances for comfort 
and safety, to bequeath to their successors all 
sorts of stoves and pots and cooking utensils, 
and generally to give an impression, which was 
put into words by Private Robinson : ' ' Strike 
me if this ain't the most cordiawl bloomin' 
ongtongt IVe ever met!" 

The Towers had never realized, or regretted, 
their lack of the French as deeply as they came 
to do now. Hitherto dealings in the language 
had been entirely with the women in the vil- 



108 ACTION FRONT 

lages and billets of the reserve lines, where 
there was plenty of time to find means of ex- 
pressing the two things that for the most part 
were all they had to express — their wants and 
their thanks. And because by now they had no 
slightest difficulty in making these billet in- 
habitants understand what they required — a 
fire for cooking, stretching space on a floor, the 
location of the nearest estaminets, whether 
eggs, butter, and bread were obtainable, and 
how much was the price — they had fondly im- 
agined in their hearts, and boasted loudly in 
their home letters, that they were quite satis- 
factorily conversant with the French language. 
Now they were to discover that their knowledge 
was not quite so extensive as they had im- 
agined, although it never occurred to them that 
the French women in the billets were learning 
English a great deal more rapidly and ef- 
ficiently than they were learning French, that 
it was not altogether their mastery of the lan- 
guage which instantly produced soap and 
water, for instance, when they made motions 
of washing their hands and said slowly and 
loudly: "Soap — you compree, soap and l'eau; 
you savvy — 1'eau, wa-ter." But now, when it 
came to the technicalities of their professional 
business, they found their command of the lan- 
guage completely inadequate. There were 
many of them who could ask, "What is the 



AS OTHERS SEE 109 

time?" but that helped them little to discover 
at what time the Germans made a practice of 
shelling the trenches; they could have asked 
with ease, "Have you any eggs!" but they 
could not twist this into a sentence to ask 
whether there were any egg-selling farms in the 
vicinity; could have asked "how much" was 
the bread, but not how many yards it was to 
the German trench. 

A few Frenchmen, who spoke more or less 
English, found themselves in enormous French 
and English demand, while Private 'Enery 
Irving, who had hitherto borne some reputa- 
tion as a French speaker — a reputation, it may 
be mentioned, largely due to his artful knack 
of helping out spoken words by imitation and 
explanatory acting — found his bubble reputa- 
tion suddenly and disastrously pricked. He 
made some attempt to clutch at its remains by 
listening to the remarks addressed to him by 
a Frenchman, with a most potently intelligent 
and understanding expression, by ejaculating 
' ' Nong, nong ! ' ' and a profoundly understanding 
"Ah, wee!" at intervals in the one-sided con- 
versation. He tried this method when called 
upon by a puzzled private to interpret the tor- 
rential speech of a Frenchman, who wished to 
know whether the Towers had any jam to spare, 
or whether they would exchange a rum ration 
for some French wine. 'Enery interjected a 



110 ACTION FRONT 

few "Ah, wee's!" and then at the finish ex- 
plained to the private. 

"He speaks a bit fast," he said, "bnt he's 
trying to tell me something about him coming 
from a place called Conserve, and that we can 
have his 'room' here — meaning, I suppose, his 
dug-out. ' ' He turned to the Frenchman, spread 
out his hands, shrugged his shoulders, and ges- 
ticulated after the most approved fashion of 
the stage Frenchman, bowed deeply, and said, 
"Merci, Monsieur/' many times. The French- 
man naturally looked a good deal puzzled, but 
bowed politely in reply and repeated his ques- 
tion at length. This producing no effect except 
further stage shrugs, he seized upon one of the 
interpreters who was passing and explained 
rapidly. "He asks," said the interpreter, 
turning to 'Enery and the other men, "whether 
you have any conserve et rhum — jam and rum 
— you wish to exchange for his wine." After 
that 'Enery Irving collapsed in the public es- 
timation as a French speaker. 

When the Towers were properly installed, 
and the French regiment commenced to move 
out, a Tower Bridge officer came along and told 
his men that they were to be careful to keep 
out of sight, as the orders were to deceive the 
Germans opposite and to keep them ignorant 
as long as possible of the British-French ex- 
change. Private Robinson promptly improved 



AS OTHERS SEE 111 

upon this idea. He found a discarded French 
kepi, put it on his head, and looked over the 
parapet. He only stayed up for a second or two 
and ducked again, just as a bullet whizzed over 
the parapet. He repeated the performance at in- 
tervals from different parts of the trench, but 
finding that his challenge drew quicker and 
quicker replies was obliged at last to lift the 
cap no more than into sight on the point of a 
bayonet. He was rather pleased with the ap- 
plause of his fellows and the half-dozen prompt 
bullets which each appearance of the cap at 
last drew, until one bullet, piercing the cap and 
striking the point of the bayonet, jarred his 
fingers unpleasantly and deflected the bullet 
dangerously and noisily close to his ear. Some 
of the Frenchmen who were filing out had 
paused to watch this performance, laughing and 
bravo-ing at its finish. Eobinson bowed with 
a magnificent flourish, then replaced the kepi 
on the point of the bayonet, raised the kepi, and 
made the bayonet bow to the audience. A 
French officer came bustling along the trench 
urging his men to move on. He stood there to 
keep the file passing along without check, and 
Robinson turned presently to some of the 
others and asked if they knew what' was the 
meaning of this "Mays ongfong" that the of- 
ficer kept repeating to his men. " Ongfong, J y 
said 'Enery Irving briskly, seizing the oppor- 



112 ACTION FRONT 

tunity to reestablish himself as a French 
speaker, " means ' children'; spelled e-n- 
f-a-n-t-s, pronounced ongfong." 

" Children !" said Robinson. "Infants, eh? 
'ealthy lookin' lot o' infants. There's one now 
— that six-foot chap with the Father Christmas 
whiskers; 'ow's'that for a' infant!" 

As the Frenchmen filed out some of them 
smiled and nodded and called cheery good-bys 
to our men, and 'Enery Irving turned to a man 
beside him. "This," he said, "is about where 
some appropriate music should come in the 
book. Exit to triumphant strains of martial 
music. Buck up, Snapper! Can't you mouth- 
organ 'em the Mar-shall-aise?" 

Snapper promptly produced his instrument 
and mouth-organed the opening bars, and the 
Towers joined in and sang the tune with vo- 
ciferous "la-la-las." When they had finished, 
two or three of the Frenchmen, after a quick 
word together struck up ' * God Save the King. ' ' 
Instantly the others commenced to pick it up, 
but before they had sung three words 'Enery 
Irving, in tones of horror, demanded "The 
Mar-shall-aise again; quick, you idiot!" from 
Snapper, and himself swung off into a falsetto 
rendering of "Three Blind Mice." In a mo- 
ment the Towers had in full swing their medley 
caricature of the French march singing, under 



AS OTHERS SEE 113 

which "God Save the King" was very com- 
pletely drowned. 

"What the devil d'you mean? Are yon all 
mad?" demanded a wrathful subaltern, plung- 
ing round the traverse to where Snapper 
mouth-organed the ' ' Marseillaise, ' ' 'Enery Irv- 
ing lustily intoned his anthem of the Blind 
Mice, and Corporal Flannigan passed from the 
deep lowing of a cow to the clarion calls of the 
farmyard rooster. 

"Beg pardon, sir," said 'Enery Irving with 
lofty dignity, "but if I 'adn't started this row 
the 'ole trenchful o' Frenchies would 'ave been 
'owling our 'Gawd Save.' I saw that 'ud be a 
clean give-away, an' the order bein' to act so 
as to deceive " 

"Quite right," said the officer, "and a smart 
idea of yours to block it. But who was the 
crazy ass who started it by singing the 'Mar- 
seillaise'!" On this point, however, 'Enery 
was discreetly silent. 

Before the French had cleared the trench 
the Germans opened a leisurely bombardment 
with a trench mortar. This delayed the pro- 
ceeding somewhat, because it was reckoned 
wiser to halt the men and clear them from the 
crowded trench into the dug-outs. With the 
double company of French and British, there 
was rather a tight squeeze in the shelters, won- 
derfully commodious as they were. 



114 ACTION FRONT 

"Now this," said Corporal Flannigan, "is 
what I call something like a dug-out." He 
looked appreciatively round the square, 
smooth-walled chamber and up the steps to the 
small opening which gave admittance to it. 
"Good dodge, too, this sinking it deep under- 
ground. Even if a bomb dropped in the trench 
just outside, and pieces blew in the door, they'd 
only go over our heads. Something like, this 
is." 

"I wonder," said another reflectively, "why 
we don't have dug-outs like this in our line?" 
He spoke in a slightly aggrieved tone, as if dug- 
outs were things that were issued from the 
Quarter-Master's store, and therefore a legiti- 
mate cause for free complaint. He and his 
fellows would certainly have felt a good deal 
more aggrieved, however, if they had been set 
the labor of making such dug-outs. 

Up above, such of the French and British as 
had been left in the trench were having quite 
a busy time with the bombs. The Frenchmen 
had rather a unique way of dodging these, 
which the Towers were quick to adopt. The 
whole length of the trench was divided up into 
compartments by strong traverses running back 
at right angles from the forward parapet, and 
in each of these compartments there were any- 
thing from four or five to a dozen men, all 
crowded to the backward end of the traverse, 



AS OTHERS SEE 115 

waiting and watching there to see the bomb 
come twirling slowly and clumsily over. As it 
reached the highest point of its curve and be- 
gan to fall down towards the trench, it was 
as a rule fairly easy to say whether it would 
fall to right or left of the traverse. If it fell 
in the trench to the right, the men hurriedly 
plunged round the corner of the traverse to the 
left, and waited there till the bomb exploded. 
The crushing together at the angle of the tra- 
verse, the confused cries of warning or ad- 
vice, or speculation as to which side a bomb 
would fall, the scuffling, tumbling rush to one 
side or the other, the cries of derision which 
greeted the ineffective explosion — all made up 
a sort of game. The Towers had had a good 
many unhappy experiences with bombs, and at 
first played the unknown game carefully and 
anxiously, and with some doubts as to its re- 
sults. But they soon picked it up, and pres- 
ently made quite merry at it, laughing and 
shouting noisily, tumbling and picking them- 
selves up and laughing again like children. 

They lost three men, who were wounded 
through their slowness in escaping from the 
compartment where the bomb exploded, and 
this rather put the Towers on their mettle. As 
Private Robinson remarked, it wasn't the 
cheese that a Frenchman should beat an Eng- 
lishman at any blooming game. 



116 ACTION FRONT 

"If we could only get a little bit of a stake on 
it," he said wistfully, "we could take 'em on, 
the winners being them that loses least men." 

It being impossible, however, to convey to the 
Frenchmen that interest would be added by the 
addition of a little bet, the Towers had to con- 
tent themselves with playing platoon against 
platoon amortgst themselves, the losing platoon 
pay, what they could conveniently afford, the 
day's rations of the men who were casualtied. 
The subsequent task of dividing one and a quar- 
ter pots of jam, five portions of cheese, bacon 
and a meat-and-potato stew was only settled 
eventually by resource to a set of dice. 

As the bombing continued methodically, the 
French artillery, who were still covering this 
portion of the trench, set to work to silence 
the mortar, and the Towers thoroughly enjoyed 
the ensuing performance, and the generous, not 
to say extravagant, fashion in which the French 
battery, after the usual custom of French bat- 
teries, lavished its shells upon the task. For 
five minutes the battery spoke in four-tongued 
emphatic tones, and the shells screamed over 
the forward trench, crackled and crashed above 
the German line, dotted the German parapet 
along its length, played up and down it in long 
bursts of fire, and deluged the suspected hid- 
ing-place of the mortar with a torrent of high 



AS OTHERS SEE 117 

explosive. When it stopped, the bombing also 
had stopped for that day. 

The French infantry did not wait for the 
ceasing of the artillery fire. They gathered 
themselves and their belongings and recom- 
menced to move as soon as the guns began to 
speak. 

"Feenish!" as one of them said, placing a 
finger on the ground, lifting it in a long curve, 
twirling it over and over and downward again 
in imitation of a falling bomb. "Ze soixante- 
quinze speak, bang-bang-bang !' ' and his fist 
jerked out four blows in a row. "Feenish!" 
he concluded, holding a hand out towards the 
German lines and making a motion of rub- 
bing something off the slate. Plainly they were 
very proud of their artillery, and the Towers 
caught that word "soixante-quinze" in every 
tone of pleasure, pride, and satisfaction. But 
as Private Robinson said, "I don't wonder at 
it. Cans is a good name, but can-an'-does 
would be a better." 

When the last of the Frenchmen had gone, 
the Towers completed their settling in and mak- 
ing themselves comfortable in the vacated 
quarters. The greatest care was taken to avoid 
any man showing a British cap or uniform. 
"Snapper" Brown, urged by the public- spirited 
'Enery Irving, exhausted himself in playing the 
"Marseillaise" at the fullest pitch of his lungs 



118 ACTION FRONT 

and mouth-organ. His artistic soul revolted at 
last at the repetition, but since the only other 
French tune that was suggested was the Blue 
Danube Waltz, and there appeared to be diver- 
gent opinions as to its nationality, " Snapper' ' 
at last struck, and refused to play the " Mar- 
seillaise' ' a single time more. 'Enery Irving 
enthusiastically took up this matter of " acting 
so as to deceive the Germans." 

"Act!" he said. "If I'd a make-up box and 
a false mustache 'ere, I'd act so as to cheat the 
French President 'imself, much less a parcel of 
beer-swilling Germs." 

The German trenches were too far away to 
allow of any conversation, but 'Enery secured 
a board, wrote on it in large letters "Veev la 
France," and displayed it over the parapet. 
After the Germans had signified their notice 
of the sentiment by firing a dozen shots at it, 
'Enery replaced it by a fresh one, "A baa la 
Bosh." This notice was left standing, but to 
'Enery 's annoyance the Germans displayed in 
return a board which said in plain English, 
"Good morning." "Ain't that a knock out," 
said 'Enery disgustedly. "Much use me act- 
ing to deceive the Germans if some silly 
blighter in another bit o ' the line goes and gives 
the game away." 

Throughout the rest of the day he endeavored 
to confuse the German's evident information 



AS OTHERS SEE 119 

by the display of the French cap and of French 
sentences on the board like "Bong jewr," 
"Bong nwee," and "Mercridi," which he told 
the others was the French for a day of the 
week, the spelling being correct as he knew be- 
cause he had seen it written down, and the day 
indicated, he believed, being Wednesday — or 
Thursday. ' * And that 's near enough, ' ' he said, 
"because to-day is Wednesday, and if Mer- 
cridi means Wednesday, they'll think I'm sig- 
naling 'to-day'; and if it means Thursday, 
they'll think I'm talking about to-morrow." 
All doubts of the German's knowledge ap- 
peared to be removed, however, by their next 
notice, which stated plainly, "You are Eng- 
lander." To that 'Enery, his French having 
failed him, could only retort by a drawing of 
outstretched fingers and a thumb placed against 
a prominent nose on an obviously French face, 
with pointed mustache and imperial, and a 
French cap. But clearly even this failed, and 
the German's next message read, "Well 
done, Wales ! ' ' The Towers were annoyed, in- 
tensely annoyed, because shortly before that 
time the strikes of the Welsh miners had been 
prominent in the English papers, and as the 
Towers guessed from this notice at least 
equally prominent in the German journals. 
"And I only 'opes," said Robinson, "they 



120 ACTION FEONT 

sticks that notice up in front of some of the 
Taffy regiments.' ' 

"I don't see that a bit," said 'Enery Irving. 
' ' The Taffys out 'ere 'ave done their bit along 
with the best, and they're just as mad as us, 
and maybe madder, at these ha'penny-grabbing 
loafers on strike." 

"True enough," said Eobinson, "but maybe 
they'll write 'ome and tell their pals 'ow 
pleased the Bosche is with them, and 'ave a 
kind word in passing to say when any of them 
goes 'ome casualtied or on leave, 'Well done, 
Wales!' Well, I 'ope Wales likes that smack 
in the eye," and he spat contemptuously. 
Presently he had the pleasure of expressing 
his mind more freely to a French signaler of 
artillery who was on duty at an observing post 
in this forward fire trench. The Frenchman 
had a sufficient smattering of English to ask 
awkward questions as to why men were al- 
lowed to strike in England in war time, but un- 
fortunately not enough to follow Robinson's 
lengthy and agonized explanations that these 
men were not English but — a very different 
thing — Welsh, and, more than that, unpatri- 
otic swine, who ought to be shot. He was re- 
duced at last to turning the unpleasant sub- 
ject aside by asking what the Frenchman was 
doing there now the British had taken over. 
And presently the matter was shelved by a 



AS OTHERS SEE 121 

French observing officer, who was on duty- 
there, calling his signalers to attention. The 
German guns had opened a slow and casual 
fire about half an hour before on the forward 
British trench, and now they quickened their 
fire and commenced methodically to bombard 
the trench. At his captain's order a signaler 
called up a battery by telephone. The tele- 
phone instrument was in a tall narrow box 
with a handle at the side, and the signaler 
ground the handle vigorously for a minute and 
shouted a long string of hello's into the in- 
strument, rapidly twirled the handle again and 
shouted, twirled and shouted. 

The Towers watched him in some amuse- 
ment. " 'Ere, chum," said Robinson, "you 
'aven't put your tuppence in the slot," and 
'Enery Irving in a falsetto imitation of a tele- 
phone girl's metallic voice drawled: "Put two 
pennies in, please, and turn the handle after 
each — one — two — thank you! You're 
through." The signaler revolved the handle 
again. "You're mistook, 'Enery," said Robin- 
son, " 'e ain't through. Chum, you ought to 
get your tuppence back." 

"Ask to be put through to the inquiry of- 
fice," said another. "Make a complaint and 
tell 'em to come and take the blanky thing 
away if it can't be kept in order. That's what 



122 ACTION FEONT 

I used to 'ear my governor say every other 
day." 

From his lookout corner the captain called 
down in rapid French to his signaler. 

"D'ye 'ear that," said Robinson. "Gar song 
he called him. He's a bloomin' waiter! Well, 
well, and me thought he was a signaler." 

The captain at last was forced to descend 
from his place, and with the signaler en- 
deavored to rectify the faulty instrument. They 
got through at last, and the captain spoke to his 
battery. 

" 'Ear that," said Robinson. " 'Mes on- 
fong,' he says. He's got a lot o' bloomin' in- 
fants too." 

"Queer crowd!" said Flannigan. "What 
with infants for soldiers and a waiter for a 
signaler, and a butcher or a baker or candle- 
stick-maker for a President, as I'm told they 
have, they're a rum crush altogether." 

The captain ascended to his place again. A 
German shell, soaring over, burst with a loud 
crump behind the trench. The French sig- 
naler laughed and waved derisively towards 
the shell. He leaned his head and body far to 
one side, straightened slowly, bent his head 
on a curve to the other side, and brought it 
up with a jerk, imitating, as he did so, the 
sound of the falling and bursting shell, " sss- 
eee-aaa-ahah-aow-Wwrnp." Another shell fell, 



AS OTHERS SEE 123 

and il aow-Wurnp," he cried again, shuffling his 
feet and laughing gayly. The Towers laughed 
with him, and when the next shell fell there was 
a general chorus of imitation. 

The captain called again, the signaler ground 
the handle and spoke into the telephone. 
"Fire!" he said, nodding delightedly to the 
Towers ; ' ' boom-boom-boom-boom. ' ' Immedi- 
ately after they heard the loud, harsh, crackling 
reports of the battery to their rear, and the 
shells rushed whistling overhead. 

The signaler mimicked the whistling sound, 
and clicked his heels together. "Ha!" he said, 
"soixante-quinze — good, eh?" The captain 
called to him, and again he revolved the han- 
dle and called to the battery. 

"Garsong," said Robinson, "a plate of swa- 
song-canned beans, si voo play — and serve 'em 
hot." 

A German shell dropped again, and again the 
chorused howls and laughter of the Towers 
marked its fall. The captain called for high 
explosive, and the signaler shouted on the or- 
der. 

"Exploseef," repeated 'Enery Irving, again 
airing his French. "That's high explosive." 

"Garsong, twopennorth of exploseef soup," 
chanted Robinson. 

Then the order was sent down for rapid fire, 
and a moment later the battery burst out in 



124 ACTION FRONT 

running quadruple reports, and the shells 
streamed whistling overhead. The Towers 
peered through periscopes and over the para- 
pet to watch the tossing plumes of smoke and 
dust that leaped and twisted in ihe German 
lines. "Good old cans!" said Robinson ap- 
preciatively. 

When the fire stopped, the captain came to 
the telephone and spoke to the battery in praise 
of their shooting. The Towers listened care- 
fully to catch a word here and there. "There 
he goes again/ ' said Robinson, "with 'is 
bloomin' infants," and later he asked the sig- 
naler the meaning of "mes braves" that was 
so often in the captain's mouth. 

" 'Ear that," he said to the other Towers 
when the signaler explained it meant "my 
braves." "Bloomin' braves he's calling his 
battery now. Infants was bad enough, but 
'braves' is about the limit. I'm open to ad- 
mit they're brave enough; that bombing didn't 
seem to worry them, and shell-fire pleases them 
like a call for dinner; and you remember that 
time we was in action one side of the La Bassee 
road and they was in it on the other? Strewth ! 
When I remember the wiping they got cross- 
ing the open, and the way they stuck it and 
plugged through that mud, and tore the barbed 
wire up by the roots, and sailed over into the 
German trench, I'm not going to contradict 



AS OTHERS SEE 125 

anybody that calls 'em brave. But it sounds 
rum to 'ear 'em call each other it." 

Robinson was busy surveying in a periscope 
the ground between the trenches. "I dunno 
if I'm seem' things," he remarked suddenly, 
"but I could Ve swore a man's 'and waved 
out o' the grass over there." With the utmost 
caution half a dozen men peered out through 
loopholes and with periscopes in the direction 
indicated, and presently a chorus of exclama- 
tions told that the hand had again been seen. 
Robinson was just about to wave in reply when 
'Enery grabbed his arm. 

"You're a nice one to 'act so as to deceive,' 
you are," he said warmly. "I s'pose a khaki 
sleeve is likely to make the 'Uns believe we're 
French. Now, you watch me." 

He pulled back his tunic sleeve, held his 
shirtsleeved arm up the moment the next wave 
came, and motioned a reply. 

"He's in a hole o' some sort," said 'Enery. 
"Now I wonder who it is. A Frenchie by his 
tunic sleeve." 

"Yes; there's 'is cap," said Robinson sud- 
denly. "Just up — and gone." 

"Make the same motion wi' this cap on a 
bayonet," said 'Enery; "then knock off", case 
the Boshies spot 'im." 

The matter was reported, and presently a 
couple of officers came along, made a careful 



r* 



126 ACTION FRONT 

examination, and waved the cap. A cautious 
reply, and a couple of bullets whistling past 
their cap came at the same moment. 

Later, 'Enery sought the sergeant. "Mind 
you this, sergeant,' ' he said, "if there's any 
volunteerin' for the job o' fetchin' that chap 
in, he belongs to me. I found 'im." The ser- 
geant grinned. 

"Robinson was here two minutes ago wi' the 
same tale," he said. "Seems you're all in a 
great hurry to get shot." 

"Like his bloomin' cheek!" said the indig- 
nant 'Enery. ' * I know why he wants to go out ; 
he's after those German helmets the interpreter 
told us was lyin' out there." 

The difficulty was solved presently by the 
announcement that an officer was going out and 
would take two volunteers — B Company to have 
first offer. 'Enery and Robinson secured the 
post, and 'Enery immediately sought the officer. 
Reminding him of the order to "act so as to 
deceive," he unfolded a plan which was favor- 
ably considered. 

"Those Boshies thought they was bloomin' 
clever to twig we was English," he told the 
others of B Company; "but you wait till the 
lime-light's on me. I'll puzzle 'em." 

The two French artillery signalers were 
sleeping in the forward trench, and after some 
explanation readily lent their long-skirted 



AS OTHERS SEE 127 

coats. The officer and Robinson donned one 
each, and 'Enery carefully arrayed himself in 
a torn and discarded pair of Id French baggy 
red breeches and the damaged French cap, and 
discarded his own jacket. His gray shirt 
might have been of any nationality, so that on 
the whole he made quite a passable Frenchman. 
While they waited for darkness he paraded 
the trench, shrugging his shoulders, and ges- 
ticulating. "Bon joor, mays ong-fong," he re- 
marked with a careless hand- wave. "Hey, gar- 
song! Donney-moi du pang eh du beurre, si 
voo play — and donnay-moi swoy-song cans — 
rapeed — exploseef! Merci, mes braves, mes 
bloomin' 'eroes . . . mes noble warriors, 
merci. Snapper, strike up the 'Conkerin' 
'Ero,' if you please." 

Before the time came to go he added to his 
make-up by marking on his face with a burnt 
stick huge black mustachios and an imperial, 
and although the officer stared a little when he 
came along he ended by laughing, and leaving 
'Enery his " make-up' ' disguise. 

An hour after dark the three slipped quietly 
over the parapet and out through the barbed 
wire, dragging a stretcher after them. It was 
a fairly quiet night, with only an occasional 
rifle cracking and no artillery fire. A bright 
moon floated behind scudding clouds, and per- 
haps helped the adventure by the alternate 



128 ACTION FRONT 

minutes of light and dark and the difficulty of 
focusing eyes to the differences of moonlight 
and dark and the blaze of an occasional flare 
when the moon was obscured. Behind the para- 
pet the Towers waited with rifles ready, and 
stared out through the loopholes; and behind 
them the French artillery officer, and his sig- 
nalers standing by their telephone, also waited 
with the loaded guns and ready gunners at the 
other end of the wire. The watchers saw the 
dark blot of men and stretcher slip under the 
wires, and slowly, very slowly, creep on through 
the long grass. Half-way across, the watchers 
lost them amidst the other black blots and 
shadows, and it was a full half-hour after when 
a private exclaimed suddenly: "I see them," 
he said. " There, close where we saw the 
hand." 

The moon vanished a moment, then sailed 
clear, throwing a strong silvery light across the 
open ground, and showing plainly the German 
wire entanglements and the black-and-white 
patchwork of their barricade. There were no 
visible signs of the rescue party, for the good 
reason that they had slipped into and lay prone 
in the wide shell crater that held the wounded 
Frenchman. Far spent the man was when they 
found him, for he had lain there three nights 
and two days with a bullet-smashed thigh and 
the scrape across his skull that had led the rest 



AS OTHERS SEE 129 

of his night patrol to count him dead and so 
abandon him. 

Now the moon slid again behind the racing 
clouds, and patches of light and shadow in turn 
chased across the open ground. 

"Here they come," said the captain of B 
Company a few minutes later. "At least I 
think it's them, altho' I can only see two men 
and no stretcher." 

"Do you see them?" said an eager voice in 
French at his ear, and when he turned and 
found the gunner captain and explained to him, 
the captain made a gesture of despair. "Per- 
haps it is that they cannot move him," he said. 
1 ' Or would they, do you think, return for more 
help? I should go myself but that I may be 
needed to talk with the battery. Perhaps one 
of my signalers " 

But the Englishman assured him it was bet- 
ter to wait; they could not be returning for 
help ; that the three could do all a dozen could. 

Again they waited and watched in eager sus- 
pense, glimpsing the crawling figures now and 
then, losing them again, in doubts and cer- 
tainty in swift turns as to the whereabouts and 
identity of the crawling figures. 

"There is one of them," said the captain 
quickly ; * ' there, by himself, in those cursed red 
breeches. They show up in the flarelight like 
a blood-spot on a clean collar. Dashed idiot! 



130 ACTION FEONT 

And I was a fool, too, to let him go like that." 

But it was plain now that 'Enery Irving was 
dragging his red breeches well clear of the 
others, although it was not plain what the 
others had done with the stretcher. There 
were two of them at the length of a stretcher 
apart, and yet no visible stretcher lay between 
them. It was the sergeant who solved the mys- 
tery. 

"I'm Mowed!" he said, in admiring wonder; 
"they've covered the stretcher over with cut 
grass. They've got their man too — see his head 
this end." 

Now that they knew it, all could see the out- 
line of the man's body covered over with grass, 
the thick tufts waving upright from his hands 
and nodding between his legs. 

They were three-quarters of the way across 
now, but still with a dangerous slope to cross. 
It was ever so slight, but, tilted as it was 
towards the enemy's line, it was enough to show 
much more plainly anything that moved or lay 
upon its face. They crawled on with a slow- 
ness that was an agony to watch, crawled an 
inch at a time, lying dead and still when a 
light flared, hitching themselves and the drag- 
ging stretcher onwards as the dullness of hazed 
moonlight fell. 

The French captain was consumed with im- 
patience, muttering exhortations to caution, 



AS OTHERS SEE 131 

whispering excited urgings to move, as if his 
lips were at the creepers' ears, his fingers 
twitching and jerking, his body hitching and 
holding still, exactly as if he too crawled out 
there and dragged at the stretcher. 

And then when it seemed that the worst was 
over, when there was no more than a score of 
feet to cover to the barbed wire, when they 
were actually crawling over the brow of the 
gentle rise, discovery came. There were quick 
shots from one spot of the German parapet, 
confused shouting, the upward soaring of half a 
dozen blazing flares. 

And then before the two dragging the 
stretcher could move in a last desperate rush 
for safety, before they could rise from their 
prone position, they heard the rattle of fire in- 
crease swiftly to a trembling staccato roar. 
But, miraculously, no bullets came near them, 
no whistling was about their ears, no ping and 
smack of impacting lead hailed about them — 
except, yes, just the fire of one rifle or two 
that sent aimed bullet after bullet hissing over 
them. They could not understand it, but with- 
out waiting to understand they half rose, thrust 
and hauled at the stretcher, dragged it under 
the wires, heaved it over to where eager hands 
tore down the sandbags to gap a passage for 
them. A handful of bullets whipped and 
rapped about them as they tumbled over, and 



132 ACTION FEONT 

the stretcher was hoisted in, but nothing worth 
mention, nothing certainly of that volume of 
fire that drummed and rolled out over there. 
They did not understand ; but the others in the 
trench understood, and laughed a little and 
swore a deal, then shut their teeth and set 
themselves to pump bullets in a covering fire 
upon the German parapet. 

The stretcher party drew little or no fire, 
simply and solely because just one second after 
those first shots and loud shouts had declared 
the game up, a figure sprang from the grass 
fifty yards along the trench and twice as far 
out in the open, sprang up and ran out, and 
stood in the glare of light, the baggy scarlet 
breeches and gray shirt making a flaring mark 
that no eye, called suddenly to see, could miss, 
that no rifle brought sliding through the loop- 
hole and searching for a target could fail to 
mark. The bullets began to patter about 'En- 
ery Irving's feet, to whine and whimper and 
buzz about his ears. And 'Enery — this was 
where the trench, despite themselves, laughed 
— 'Enery placed his hand on his heart, swept 
off his cap in a magnificent arm's length ges- 
ture, and bowed low; then swiftly he rose up- 
right, struck an attitude that would have graced 
the hero of the highest class Adelphi drama, 
and in a shrill voice that rang clear above the 
hammering tumult of the rifles, screamed 



AS OTHERS SEE 133 

1 i Veev la France ! A baa la Bosh ! ' ' The rifles 
by this time were pelting a storm of lead at 
him, and now that the haste and flurry of the 
urgent call had passed and the shooters had 
steadied to their task, the storm was peril- 
ously close. 'Enery stayed a moment even then 
to spread his hands and raise his shoulders ear- 
high in a magnificent stage shrug; but a bullet 
snatched the cap from his head, and 'Enery 
ducked hastily, turned, and ran his hardest, 
with the bullets snapping at his heels. 

Back in the trench a frantic French captain 
was raving at the telephone, whirling the han- 
dle round, screaming for "Fire, fire, fire!" 

Private Flannigan looked over his shoulder 
at him. "Mong capitaine," he said, "you 
ought, you reely ought, to ring up your tele- 
phone; turn the handle round an' say some- 
thing." 

"Drop two pennies in," mocked another as 
the captain birr-r-red the handle and yelled 
again. 

Whether he got through, or whether the burst 
of rifle fire reached the listening ears at the 
guns, nobody knew ; but just as 'Enery did his 
ear-embracing shoulder-shrug the first shells 
screamed over, burst and leaped down along 
the German parapet. After that there was no 
complaint about the guns. They scourged the 
parapet from end to end, up and down, and up 



134 ACTION FEONT 

again; they shook it with the blast of high ex- 
plosive, ripped and flayed it with driving blasts 
of shrapnel, smothered it with a tempest of fire 
and lead, blotted it out behind a veil of writh- 
ing smoke. 

At the sound of the first shot the gunner cap- 
tain had leaped back to the trench. "Is he 
in? Is he arrived ?" he shouted in the ear of 
the B Company captain who leaned anxiously 
over the parapet. The captain drew back and 
down. "He's in — bless him — I mean dash his 
impudent hide!" 

The Frenchman turned and called to his sig- 
naler, and the next moment the guns ceased. 
But the captain waited, watching with nar- 
rowed eyes the German parapet. The storm of 
his shells had obliterated the rifle fire, but after 
a few minutes it opened up again in straggling 
shots. 

The captain snapped back a few orders, and 
prompt to his word the shells leaped and struck 
down again on the parapet. A dozen rounds 
and they ceased, and again the captain waited 
and watched. The rifles were silent now, and 
presently the captain relaxed his scowling glare 
and his tightened lips. "Vermin !" he said. 
He used just the tone a man gives to a fero- 
cious dog he has beaten and cowed to a sullen 
submission. 

But he caught sight of 'Enery making his 



AS OTHERS SEE 135 

way along the trench past his laughing and 
chaffing mates, and leaped down and ran to 
him. ' i Bravo ! " be beamed, and threw his arms 
round the astonished soldier, and before he 
could dodge, as the disgusted 'Enery said after- 
wards, "planted two quick-fire kisses, smack, 
smack,' ' on his two cheeks. 

11 Mon brave!" he said, stepping back and 
regarding 'Enery with shining eyes, "Mon 
brave, mon beau Anglais, mon " 

But 'Enery 's own captain arrived here and 
interrupted the flow of admiration, cursing the 
grinning and sheepish private for a this, that, 
and the other crazy, play-acting idiot, and 
winding up abruptly by shaking hands with him 
and saying gruffly, "Good work, though. B 
Company's proud of you, and so'm I." 

"An' I admit I felt easier after that rough- 
tonguin'," 'Enery told B Company that night 
over a mess-tin of tea. "It was sort of nat- 
ural-like, an' what a man looks for, and it 
broke up about as unpleasant a sit-u-ation as 
I've seen staged. I could see you all grinning 
and I don't wonder at it. That slobberin' an' 
kissin' business, an' the Mong Brav Conkerin' 
'Ero may be all right for a lot o' bloomin' 
Frenchies that don't know better " 

He took a long swig of tea. 

"Though, mind you," he resumed, "I haven't 
a bad word to fit to a Frenchman. They're real 



136 ACTION FKONT 

good fighting stuff, an' they ain't arf the light- 
'earted an' light- 'eaded grinnin' giddy goats I 
used to take 'em for." 

" There wasn't much o' the light 'eart look 
about the Mong Cappytaine to-night," said 
Robinson. " 'Is eyes was snappin' like two 
ends o' a live wire, and 'e 'andled them guns 
as business-like as a butcher cutting chops." 

"That's it," said 'Enery, "business-like is 
the word for 'em. I noticed them 'airy-faces 
shootin' to-day. They did it like they was sent 
there to kill somebody, and they meant doin' 
their job thorough an' competent. Afore I 
come this trip on the Continong I used to think 
a Frenchman was good for nothing but fiddlin' 
an' dancin' an' makin' love. But since I've 
seen 'em settin' to Bosh partners an' dancin' 
across the neutral ground an' love-makin' wi' 
Rosalie, 1 I've learned better. 'Ere's luck to 
'im," and he drained the mess-tin. 

And the French, if one might judge from the 
story mon capitaine had to tell his major, had 
also revised some ancient opinions of their Al- 
lies. 

"Cold!" he said scornfully; "never again 
tell me these English are cold. Children — per- 
haps. Foolish — but yes, a little. They try to 
kill a man between jests ; they laugh if a bullet 
wounds a comrade so that he grimaces with 

1 Rosalie — the French nickname for the bayonet. 



AS OTHERS SEE 137 

pain — it is true; I saw it." It was true, and 
had reference to a slight scrape of a bullet 
across the tip of the nose of a Towers private, 
and the ribald jests and laughter thereat. 
"They make jokes, and say a man 'stopped 
one,' meaning a shell had been stopped in its 
flight by exploding on him — this the interpreter 
has explained to me. But cold — no, no, no ! If 
you had seen this man — ah, sublime, magnifi- 
cent! With the whistling balls all round him 
he stands, so brave, so noble, so fine, stands — 
so! 'Vive la France! 9 he cried aloud, with a 
tongue of trumpets; 'Vive la France! A has 
les Bodies!' " 

The captain, as he declaimed "with a tongue 
of trumpets," leaped to his feet and struck an 
attitude that was really quite a good imitation 
of 'Enery's own mock-tragedian one. But the 
officers listening breathed awe and admiration ; 
they did not, as the Towers did, laugh, because 
here, unlike the Towers, they saw nothing to 
laugh at. 

The captain dropped to his chair amid a mur- 
mur of applause. ' ' Sublime ! ' ' he said. ' ' That 
posture, that cry ! Indeed, it was worthy of a 
Frenchman. But certainly we must recommend 
him for a Cross of France, eh, my major?" 

'Enery Irving got the Cross of the Legion of 
Honor. But I doubt if it ever gave him such 
pure and legitimate joy as did a notice stuck 



138 ACTION FEONT 

up in the German trench next day. Certainly 
it insulted the English by stating that their 
workers stayed at home and went on strike 
while Frenchmen fought and died. But it was 
headed "Frenchman I" and it was written in 
French. 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 

"At we recaptured the portion of front 

line trench lost by us some days ago J 9 — Ex- 

TEACT FBOM DlSPATCH. 

' l In a charge, ' ' said the Sergeant, i t the ' Hot- 
water Guards' don't think about going back 
till there's none of them left to go back; and 
you can always remember this: if you go for- 
ward you may die, if you go back you will die." 

The memory of that phrase came back to 
Private Everton, tramping down the dark road 
to the firing-line. Just because he had no 
knowledge of how he himself would behave in 
this his baptism of fire, just because he was in 
deadly fear that he would feel fear, or, still 
worse, show it, he strove to fix that phrase 
firmly in front of his mind. "If I can remem- 
ber that," he thought, "it will stop me going 
back, anyway," and he repeated: "If you go 
back you will die, if you go back you will die," 
over and over. 

It is true that, for all his repetition, when a 
field battery, hidden close by the side of the 
road on which they marched, roared in a sud- 

139 



140 ACTION FRONT 

den and ear-splitting salvo of six guns, for the 
instant he thought he was under fire and that 
a huge shell had burst somewhere desperately 
close to them. He had jumped, his comrades 
assured him afterwards, a clear foot and a half 
off the ground, and he himself remembered that 
his first involuntary glance and thought flashed 
to the deep ditch that ran alongside the road. 
When he came to the trenches, at last, and 
filed down the narrow communication-trench 
and into his Company's appointed position in 
the deep ditch with a narrow platform along 
its front that was the forward fire-trench, he 
remembered with unpleasant clearness that in- 
stinctive start and thought of taking cover. By 
that time he had actually been under fire, had 
heard the shells rush over him and the shatter- 
ing noise of their burst ; had heard the bullets 
piping and humming and hissing over the com- 
munication- and firing-trenches. He took a lit- 
tle comfort from the fact that he had not felt 
any great fear then, but he had to temper that 
by the admission that there was little to be 
afraid of there in the shelter of the deep trench. 
It was what he would do and feel when he 
climbed out of cover on to the exposed and bul- 
let-swept flat before the trench that he was in 
doubt about; for the Hotwaters had been told 
that at nine o'clock there was to be a brief but 
intense bombardment on a section of trench in 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 141 

front of them which had been captured from us 
the day before, and which, after several coun- 
ter-attacks had failed, was to be taken that 
morning by this battalion of Hotwaters. 

At half-past eight, nobody entering their 
trench would have dreamed that the Hotwaters 
were going into a serious action in half an hour. 
The men were lounging about, squatting on the 
firing-step, chaffing and talking — laughing even 
— quite easily and naturally; some were smok- 
ing, and others had produced biscuits and bully 
beef from their haversacks and were calmly 
eating their breakfast. 

Everton felt a glow of pride as he looked at 
them. These men were his friends, his fel- 
lows, his comrades : they were of the Hotwater 
Guards — his regiment, and his battalion. He 
had heard often enough that the Guards Bri- 
gades were the finest brigades in the Army, 
that this particular brigade was the best of all 
the Guards, that his battalion was the best of 
the Brigade. Hitherto he had rather depre- 
cated these remarks as savoring of pride and 
self-conceit, but now he began to believe that 
they must be true; and so believing, if he had 
but known it, he had taken another long step 
on the way to becoming the perfect soldier, who 
firmly believes his regiment the finest in the 
world and is ready to die in proof of the 
belief. 



142 ACTION FRONT 

" Dusty Miller," the next file on his left, who 
was eating bread and cheese, spoke to him. 

"Why don't you eat some grub, Toffee ?" 
he mumbled cheerfully, with his mouth full. 
"In a game like this you never know when 
you'll get the next chance of a bite." 

"Don't feel particularly hungry," answered 
Toffee with an attempt to appear as off-handed 
and casual and at ease as his questioner. ' ' So 
I think I'd better save my ration until I'm 
hungry." 

Dusty Miller sliced off a wedge of bread with 
the knife edge against his thumb, popped it in 
his mouth, and followed it with a corner of 
cheese. 

"A-ah!" he said profoundly, and still munch- 
ing; "there's no sense in saving rations when 
you're going into action. I'd a chum once that 
always did that; said he got more satisfaction 
out of a meal when the job was over and he 
was real hungry, and had a chance to eat in 
comfort — more or less comfort. And one day 
we was for it he saved a tin o' sardines and 
a big chunk of cake and a bottle of pickled 
onions that had just come to him from home 
the day before; said he was looking for- 
ward to a good feed that night after the 
show was over. And — and he was killed that 
day!" 

Dusty Miller halted there with the inborn ar- 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 143 

tistry that left his climax to speak for itself. 

"Hard luck!" said Toffee sympathetically. 
"So his feed was wasted?" 

"Not to say wasted exactly," said Dusty, re- 
suming bread and cheese. "Because I remem- 
bers to this day how good them onions was. 
Still it was wasted, far as he was concerned 
— and he was particular fond o' pickled 
onions." 

But even the prospect of wasting his rations 
did nothing to induce Toffee to eat a meal. The 
man on Toffee 's right was crouched back on the 
firing-step apparently asleep or near it. Dusty 
Miller had turned and opened a low-toned con- 
versation with the next man, the frequent repe- 
tition of "I says" and "she says" affording 
some clew to the thread of his story and in- 
clining Toffee to believe it not meant for him 
to hear. He felt he must speak to some one, 
and it was with relief that he saw Halliday, 
the man on his other side, rouse himself and 
look up. Something about Toffee's face caught 
his attention. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, leaning 
forward and speaking quietly. "This is your 
first charge, isn't it?" 

"Yes," said Toffee, "I'm all right. I— I 
think I'm all right." 

The other moved slightly on the firing- step, 
leaving a little room, and Toffee took this as 



144 ACTION FEONT 

an invitation to sit down. Halliday continued 
to speak in low tones that were not likely to 
pass beyond his listener's ear. 

" Don't you get scared," he said. "You've 
nothing much to be scared about. ' ' 

He threw a little emphasis, and Toffee fan- 
cied a little envy, into the "you." 

" I 'm not scared exactly, ' ' said Toffee. " I 'm 
sort of wondering what it will be like." 

"I know," said Halliday, "I know; and who 
should, if I didn't? But I can tell you this — 
you don't need to be afraid of shells, you don't 
need to be afraid of bullets, and least of all is 
there any need to be afraid of the cold iron 
when the Hotwaters get into the trench. You 
don't need to be afraid of being wounded, be- 
cause that only means home and a hospital and 
a warm dry bed; you don't need to be afraid 
of dying, because you've got to die some day, 
anyhow. There's only one thing in this game 
to be afraid of, and there isn't many finds that 
in their first engagement. It's the ones like me 
that get it." 

Toffee glanced at him curiously and in some 
amazement. Now that he looked closely, he 
could see that, despite his easy loungeful at- 
titude and steady voice, and apparently indif- 
ferent look, there was something odd and un- 
explainable about Halliday: some faintest 
twitching of his lips, a shade of pallor on his 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 145 

cheek, a hunted look deep at the back of his 
eyes. Everton tried to speak lightly. 

"And what is it, then, that the likes o' you 
get?" 

Halliday's voice sank to little more than a 
whisper. "It's the fear o' fear," he said 
steadily. "Maybe, you think you know what 
that is, that you feel it yourself. You know 
what I mean, I suppose?" 

Toffee nodded. "I think so," he said. 
"What I fear myself is that I'll be afraid and 
show that I'm afraid, that I'll do something 
rotten when we get out up there." 

He jerked his head up and back towards 
the open where the rifles sputtered and the bul- 
lets whistled querulously. 

"There's plenty fear that," admitted Halli- 
day, "before their first action; but mostly it 
passes the second they leave cover and can't 
protect themselves and have to trust to what- 
ever there is outside themselves to bring them 
through. You don't know the beginning of how 
bad the fear o' fear can be till you have seen 
dozens of your mates killed, till you've had 
death no more than touch you scores of times, 
like I have." 

"But you don't mean to tell me," said Toffee 
incredulously, ' ' that you are afraid of yourself, 
that you can't trust yourself now? "Why, I've 
heard said often that you're one of the coolest 



146 ACTION FEONT 

under fire, and that you don't know what fear 
is!" 

"It's a good reputation to have if you can 
keep it, ' ' said Halliday. * ' But it makes it worse 
if you can't." 

"I wish," said Toffee enviously, "I was as 
sure of keeping it as you are to-day." 

Halliday pulled his hand from his pocket and 
held it beside him where only Toffee could see 
it. It was quivering like a flag-halliard in a 
stiff breeze. He thrust it back in his pocket. 

"Doesn't look too sure, does it?" he said 
grimly. "And my heart is shaking a sight 
worse than my hand." 

He was interrupted by the arrival of a group 
of German shells on and about the section of 
trench they were in. One burst on the rear lip 
of the trench, spattering earth and bullets about 
them and leaving a choking reek swirling and 
eddying along the trench. There was silence 
for an instant, and then an officer's voice called 
from the near traverse. "Is anybody hit 
there?" A sergeant shouted back "No, sir," 
and was immediately remonstrated with by an 
indignant private busily engaged in scraping 
the remains of a mud clod from his eye. 

"You might wait a minute, Sergeant," he 
said, "afore you reports no casualties, just to 
give us time to look round and count if all our 
limbs is left on. And I've serious doubts at 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 147 

this minute whether my eye is in its right place 
or bulging out the back o' my head; anyway, 
it feels as if an eight-inch Krupp had bumped 
fair into it." 

When the explosion came, Toffee Everton had 
instinctively ducked and crouched, but he no- 
ticed that Halliday never moved or gave a sign 
of the nearness of any danger. Toffee re- 
marked this to him. 

"And I don't see," he confessed, "where 
that fits in with this hand- and heart-shaking 
o' yours." 

Halliday looked at him curiously. 

"If that was the worst," he said, "I could 
stand it. It isn't. It isn't the beginning of the 
least of the worst. If it had fell in the trench, 
now, and mucked up half a dozen men, there 'd 
have been something to squeal about. That's 
the sort o' thing that breaks a man up — your 
own mates that was talking to you a minute 
afore, ripped to bits and torn to ribbons. I've 
seen nothing left of a whole live man but a pair 

o' burnt boots. I've seen " He stopped 

abruptly and shivered a little. "I'm not going 
to talk about it," he said. "I think about it 
and see it too often in my dreams as it is. And, 
besides," he went on, "I didn't duck that time, 
because I've learnt enough to know it's too late 
to duck when the shell bursts a dozen yards 
from you. I'm not so much afraid of dying, 



148 ACTION FRONT 

either. IVe got to die, I've little doubt, before 
this war is out; I don't think there's a dozen 
men in this battalion that came out with it in 
the beginning and haven't been home sick or 
wounded since. I've seen one-half the battalion 
wiped out in one engagement and built up with 
drafts, and the other half wiped out in the next 
scrap. We've lost fifty and sixty and seventy 
per cent, of our strength at different times, and 
I've come through it all without a scratch. Do 
you suppose I don't know it's against reason 
for me to last out much longer? But I'm not 
afraid o' that. I'm not afraid of the worst 
death I've seen a man die — and that's some- 
thing pretty bad, believe me. What I 'm afraid 
of is myself, of my nerve cracking, of my doing 
something that will disgrace the Regiment." 

The man's nerves were working now; there 
was a quiver of excitement in his voice, a grayer 
shade on his cheek, a narrowing and a restless 
movement of his eyes, a stronger twitching of 
his lips. More shells crashed sharply; a little 
along the line a gust of rifle-bullets swept over 
and into the parapet; a Maxim rap-rap-rapped 
and its bullets spat hailing along the parapet 
above their heads. 

Halliday caught his breath and shivered 
again. 

"That," he said — "that is one of the devils 
we've got to face presently." His eyes glanced 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 149 

furtively about him. "God!" he muttered, "if 
I could only get out of this ! 'Tisn't fair, I tell 
ye, it isn't fair to ask a man that's been through 
what I have to take it on again, knowing that if 
I do come through, 'twill be the same thing to 
go through over and over until they get me ; or 
until my own sergeant shoots me for refusing 
to face it." 

Everton had listened in amazed silence — an 
understanding utterly beyond him. He knew 
the name that Halliday bore in the regiment, 
knew that he was seeing and hearing more than 
Halliday perhaps had ever shown or told to 
anyone. Shamefacedly and self-consciously, he 
tried to say something to console and hearten 
the other man, but Halliday interrupted him 
roughly. 

1 < That »s it ! ' * he said bitterly. " Go on ! Pat 
me on the back and tell me to be a good boy and 
not to be frightened. I'm coming to it at last: 
old Bob Halliday that's been through it from 
the beginning, one o' the Old Contemptibles, 
come down to be mothered and hushaby-baby'd 
by a blanky recruit, with the first polish hardly 
off his new buttons." 

He broke off and into bitter cursing, reviling 
the Germans, the war, himself and Everton, his 
sergeant and platoon commander, the O.C., and 
at last the regiment itself. But at that the 
torrent of his oaths broke off, and he sat silent 



150 ACTION FRONT 

and shaking for a minute. He glanced side- 
ways at last at the embarrassed Everton. 

" Don't take no notice o' me, chum," he said. 
"I wasn't speaking too loud, was IH The oth- 
ers haven't noticed, do you think? I don't 
want to look round for a minute. ' ' 

Everton assured him that he had not spoken 
too loud, that nobody appeared to have noticed 
anything, and that none were looking their way. 
He added a feeble question as to whether Halli- 
day, if he felt so bad, could not report himself 
as sick or something and escape having to leave 
the trench. 

Halliday's lips twisted in a bitter grin. 

' * That would be a pretty tale, ' ' he said. ' ' No, 
boy, I'll try and pull through once more, and if 
my heart fails me — look here, I've often thought 
o ' this, and some day, maybe, it will come to it. ' ' 

He lifted his rifle and put the butt down in 
the trench bottom, slipped his bayonet out, and 
holding the rifle near the muzzle with one hand, 
with the other placed the point of the bayonet 
to the trigger of the rifle. He removed it in- 
stantly and returned it to its place. 

"There's always that," he said. "It can be 
done in a second, and no matter how a man's 
hand shakes, he can steady the point of the 
bayonet against the trigger-guard, push it down 
till the point pushes the trigger home." 

"Do you mean," stammered Everton in 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 151 

amazement — "do you mean — shoot yourself V 9 

"Ssh! not so loud," cautioned Halliday. 
"Yes, it's better than being shot by my own 
officer, isn't it!" 

Everton's mind was floundering hopelessly 
round this strange problem. He could under- 
stand a man being afraid ; he was not sure that 
he wasn't afraid himself; but that a man afraid 
that he could not face death could yet contem- 
plate certain death by his own hand, was com- 
pletely beyond him. 

Halliday drew his breath in a deep sigh. 

"We'll say no more about it," he said. "I 
feel better now; it's something to know I al- 
ways have that to fall back on at the worst. I'll 
be all right now — until it comes the minute to 
climb over the parapet. ' ' 

It was nearly nine o'clock, and word was 
passed down the line for every man to get down 
as low as he could in the bottom of the trench. 
The trench they were about to attack was only 
forty or fifty yards away, and since the Heavies 
as well as the Field guns were to bombard, there 
was quite a large possibility of splinters and 
fragments being thrown by the lyddite back as 
far as the British trench. At nine, sharp to the 
tick of the clock, the rush, rush, rush of a field 
battery's shells passed overhead. Because the 
target was so close, the passing shells seemed 
desperately near to the British parapet, as 



152 ACTION FRONT 

indeed they actually were. The rush of the 
shells and the crash of their explosion sounded 
in the forward trench before the boom of the 
guns which fired them traveled to the British 
trench. Before the first round of this opening 
battery had finished, another and another joined 
in, and then, in a deluge of noise, the intense 
bombardment commenced. 

Crouching low in the bottom of the trench, 
half deafened by the uproar, the men waited for 
the word to move. The concentrated fire on this 
portion of front indicated clearly to the Ger- 
mans that an attack was coming, and where it 
was to be expected. The obviously correct 
procedure for the gunners was of course to have 
bombarded many sections of front so that no 
certain clew would be given as to the point of 
the coming attack. But this was in the days 
when shells were very, very precious things, 
and gunners had to grit their teeth helplessly, 
doling out round by round, while the German 
gun- and rifle-fire did its worst. The Germans, 
then, could see now where the attack was con- 
centrated, and promptly proceeded to break it 
up before it was launched. Shells began to 
sweep the trench where the Hotwater Guards 
lay, to batter at their parapet, and to prepare 
a curtain of fire along their front. 

Everton lay and listened to the appalling 
clamor; but when the word was passed round 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 153 

to get ready, lie rose to his feet and climbed to 
the firing-step without any overpowering sense 
of fear. A sentence from the man on his left 
had done a good deal to hearten him. 

"Gostrewth! 'ark at our guns!" he said. 
"They ain't 'arf pitchin' it in. W'y, this ain't 
goin' to be no charge; it's going to be a sort of 
merry picnic, a game of * 'Ere we go ga therm' 
nuts in May.' There won't be any Germans 
left in them trenches, and we'll 'ave nothin' to 
do but collect the 'elmets and sooveneers and 
make ourselves at 'ome." 

"Did you hear that?" Everton asked Halli- 
day. "Is it anyways true, do you think?" 

"A good bit," said Halliday. "I've never 
seen a bit of German front smothered up by our 
guns the way this seems to be now, though 
I've often enough seen it the other way. The 
trench in front should be smashed past any 
shape for stopping our charge if the gunners 
are making any straight shooting at all." 

It was evident that the whole trench shared 
his opinion, and expressions of amazed delight 
ran up and down the length of the Hotwaters. 
When the order came to leave the trench, the 
men were up and out of it with a bound. 

Everton was too busy with his own scramble 
out to pay much heed to Halliday; but as they 
worked out through their own barbed wire, he 
was relieved to find him at his side. He caught 



154 ACTION FEONT 

Everton's look, and although his teeth were 
gripped tight, he nodded cheerfully. Presently, 
when they were forming into line again beyond 
the wire, Halliday spoke. 

1 ' Not too bad, ' ' he said. ' ' The guns has done 
it for us this time. Come on, now, and keep 
your wits when you get across." 

In the ensuing rush across the open, Everton 
was conscious of no sensation of fear. The guns 
had lifted their fire farther back as the Hot- 
waters emerged from their trench, and the rush 
and rumble of their shells was still passing over- 
head as the line advanced. The German artil- 
lery hardly dared drop their range to sweep the 
advance, because of its proximity to their own 
trench. A fairly heavy rifle-fire was coming 
from the flanks, but to a certain extent that was 
kept down by some of our batteries spreading 
their fire over those portions of the German 
trench which were not being attacked, and by 
a heavy rifle- and machine-gun fire which was 
pelted across from the opposite parts of the 
British line. 

From the immediate front, which was the 
Hotwaters' objective, there was practically no 
attempt at resistance until the advance was 
half-way across the short distance between the 
trenches, and even then it was no more than a 
spasmodic attempt and the feeble resistance of 
a few rifles and a machine-gun. The Hotwaters 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 155 

reached the trench with comparatively slight 
loss, pushed into it, and over it, and pressed 
on to the next line, the object being to threaten 
the continuance of the attack, to take the next 
trench if the resistance was not too severe, and 
so to give time for the reorganization of the 
first captured trench to resist the German 
counter-attack. 

Everton was one of the first to reach the 
forward trench. It had been roughly handled 
by the artillery fire, and the men in it made 
little show of resistance. The Hotwaters 
swarmed into the broken ditch, shooting and 
stabbing the few who fought back, disarming 
the prisoners who had surrendered with hands 
over their heads and quavering cries of "Kame- 
rad." Everton rushed one man who appeared 
to be in two minds whether to surrender or not, 
fingering and half lifting his rifle and lowering 
it again, looking round over his shoulder, once 
more raising his rifle muzzle. Everton killed 
him with the bayonet. Afterwards he climbed 
out and ran on, after the line had pushed for- 
ward to the next trench. There was an awe, 
and a thrill of satisfaction in his heart as 
he looked at his stained bayonet, but, as he 
suddenly recognized with a tremendous joy, not 
the faintest sensation of being afraid. He 
looked round grinning to the man next him, and 
was on the point of shouting some jest to him, 



156 ACTION FKONT 

when he saw the man stumble and pitch heavily 
on his face. It flashed into Everton's mind 
that he had tripped over a hidden wire, and 
he was about to shout some chaffing remark, 
when he saw the back of the man's head as he 
lay face down. But even that unpleasant sight 
brought no fear to him. 

There was a stout barricade of wire in front 
of the next trench, and an order was shouted 
along to halt and lie down in front of it. The 
line dropped, and while some lay prone and 
fired as fast as they could at any loophole or 
bobbing head they could see, others lit bombs 
and tossed them into the trench. This trench 
also had been badly mauled by the shells, and 
the fire from it was feeble. Everton lay firing 
for a few minutes, casting side glances on an 
officer close in front of him, and on two or three 
men along the line who were coolly cutting 
through the barbed wire with heavy nippers. 
Everton saw the officer spin round and drop 
to his knees, his left hand nursing his hanging 
right arm. Everton jumped up and went over 
to him. 

"Let me go on with it, sir," he said eagerly, 
and without waiting for any consent stooped 
and picked up the fallen wire-cutters and set 
to work. He and the others, standing erect 
and working on the wire, naturally drew a 
heavy proportion of the aimed fire; but Ever- 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 157 

ton was only conscious of an uplifting exhilara- 
tion, a delight that he should have had the 
chance at such a prominent position. Many bul- 
lets came very close to him, but none touched 
him, and he went on cutting wire after wire, 
quickly and methodically, grasping the strand 
well in the jaws of the nippers, gripping till 
the wire parted and the severed ends sprang 
loose, calmly fitting the nippers to the next 
strand. 

Even when he had cut a clear path through, 
he went on working, widening the breach, cut- 
ting more wires, dragging the trailing ends 
clear. Then he ran back to the line and to the 
officer who had lain watching him. 

"Your wire-nippers, sir," he said. "Shall I 
put them in your case for you?" 

"Stick them in your pocket, Everton," said 
the youngster; "you've done good work with 
them. Now lie down here." 

All this was a matter of no more than three 
or four minutes' work. When the other gaps 
were completed — the men in them being less 
fortunate than Everton and having several 
wounded during the task — the line rose, rushed 
streaming through the gaps and down into the 
trench. If anything, the damage done by the 
shells was greater there than in the first line, 
mainly perhaps because the heavier guns had 
not hesitated to fire on the second line where 



158 ACTION FEONT 

the closeness of the first line to the British 
would have made risky shooting. There were 
a good many dead and wounded Germans in 
this second trench, and of the remainder many 
were hidden away in their dug-outs, their 
nerves shaken beyond the s ticking-point of 
courage by the artillery fire first, and later by 
the close-quarter bombing and the rush of the 
cold steel. 

The Hotwaters held that trench for some 
fifteen minutes. Then a weak counter-attack 
attempted to emerge from another line of 
trenches a good two hundred yards back, but 
was instantly fallen upon by our artillery and 
scourged by the accurate fire of the Hotwaters. 
The attack broke before it was well under way, 
and scrambled back under cover. 

Shortly afterwards the first captured trench 
having been put into some shape for defense, 
the advance line of the Hotwaters retired. A 
small covering party stayed and kept up a 
rapid fire till most of the others had gone, and 
then climbed through the trench and doubled 
back after them. 

The officer, whose wire-cutters Everton had 
used, had been hit rather badly in the arm. He 
had made light of the wound, and remained in 
the trench with the covering party ; but when he 
came to retire, he found that the pain and loss 
of blood had left him shaky and dizzy. Everton 



THE FEAE OF FEAR 159 

helped him to climb from the trench; but as 
they ran back he saw from the corner of his eye 
that the officer had slowed to a walk. He turned 
back and, ignoring the officer's advice to push 
on, urged him to lean on him. It ended up by 
Everton and the officer being the last men in, 
Everton half supporting, half carrying the 
other. Once more he felt a childish pleasure at 
this opportunity to distinguish himself. He was 
half intoxicated with the heady wine of excite- 
ment and success, he asked only for other and 
greater and riskier opportunities. "Risk," he 
thought contemptuously, "is only a pleasant 
excitement, danger the spice to the risk." He 
asked his sergeant to be allowed to go out and 
help the stretcher-bearers who were clearing 
the wounded from the ground over which the 
first advance had been made. 

"No," said the Sergeant shortly. "The 
stretcher-bearers have their job, and theyVe 
got to do it. Your job is here, and you can 
stop and do that. YouVe done enough for one 
day." Then, conscious perhaps that he had 
spoken with unnecessary sharpness, he added 
a word. "YouVe made a good beginning, lad, 
and done good work for your first show; don't 
spoil it with rank gallery play." 

But now that the German gunners knew the 
British line had advanced and held the captured 
trench, they pelted it, the open ground behind 



160 ACTION FEONT 

it, and the trench that had been the British front 
line, with a storm of shell-fire. The rifle-fire was 
hotter, too, and the rallied defense was pouring 
in a whistling stream of bullets. But the cap- 
tured trench, which it will be remembered was 
a recaptured British one, ran back and joined 
up with the British lines. It was possible there- 
fore to bring up plenty of ammunition, sand- 
bags, and reinforcements, and by now the de- 
fense had been sufficiently made good to have 
every prospect of resisting any counter-attack 
and of withstanding the bombardment to which 
it was being subjected. But the heavy fire drove 
the stretcher-bearers off the open ground, while 
there still remained some dead and wounded 
to be brought in. 

Everton had missed Halliday, and his anxious 
inquiries failed to find him or any word of him, 
until at last one man said he believed Halliday 
had been dropped in the rush on the first trench. 
Everton stood up and peered back over the 
ground behind them. Thirty yards away he 
saw a man lying prone and busily at work with 
his trenching-tool, endeavoring to build up a 
scanty cover. Everton shouted at the pitch of 
his voice, ' l Halliday !' ' The digging figure 
paused, lifted the trenching-tool and waved it, 
and then fell to work again. Everton pressed 
along the crowded trench to the sergeant. 

"Sergeant," he said breathlessly, "Halli- 



THE FEAR OF FEAR 161 

day's lying out there wounded, he's a good pal 
o' mine and I'd like to fetch him in." 

The Sergeant was rather doubtful. He made 
Everton point out the digging figure, and was 
calculating the distance from the nearest point 
of the trench, and the bullets that drummed 
between. 

"It's almost a cert you get hit," he said, 
"even if you crawl out. He's got a bit of cover 
and he's making more, fast. I think " 

A voice behind interrupted, and Everton and 
the Sergeant turned to find the Captain looking 
up at them. 

"What's this?" he repeated, and the Ser- 
geant explained the position. 

"Go ahead!" said the Captain. "Get him 
in if you can, and good luck to you." 

Everton wanted no more. Two minutes later 
he was out of the trench and racing back across 
the open. 

1 ' Come on, Halliday, ' ' he said. " I '11 give you 
a hoist in. Where are you hit?" 

"Leg and arm," said Halliday briefly; and 
then, rather ungraciously, "You're a fool to be 
out here; but I suppose now you're here, you 
might as well give me a hand in." 

But he spoke differently after Everton had 
given him a hand, had lifted him and carried 
him, and so brought him back to the trench and 
lowered him into waiting hands. His wounds 



162 ACTION FEONT 

were bandaged and, before he was carried off, 
he spoke to Everton. 

"Good-by, Toffee," he said and held out his 
left hand, "I owe you a heap. And look 

here " He hesitated a moment and then 

spoke in tones so low that Everton had to bend 
over the stretcher to hear him. "My leg's 
smashed bad, and I'm done for the Front and 
the old Hotwaters. I wouldn't like it to get 
about — I don't want the others to think — to 
know about me feeling — well, like I told you 
back there before the charge. ' ' 

Toffee grabbed the uninjured hand hard. 
"You old frost!" he said gayly, "there's no 
need to keep it up any longer now; but I don't 
mind telling you, old man, you fairly hoaxed 
me that time, and actually I believed what you 
were saying. 'Course, I know better now; but 
I'll punch the head off any man that ever whis- 
pers a word against you." 

Halliday looked at him queerly. "Good-by, 
Toffee," he said again, "and thank ye." 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 

"Enemy airmen appearing over our lines 
have been turned back or driven off by shell 
fire, 79 — Exteact from Despatch. 

Gardening is a hobby which does not exist 
under very favorable conditions at the front, 
its greatest drawback being that when the 
gardener's nnit is moved from one place to an- 
other his garden cannot accompany him. Its 
devotees appear to derive a certain amount of 
satisfaction from the mere making of a gar- 
den, the laying-out and digging and planting; 
but it can be imagined that the most enthusias- 
tic gardener would in time become discouraged 
by a long series of beginnings without any end- 
ings to his labors, to a frequent sowing and an 
entire absence of reaping. 

There are, however, some units which, from 
the nature of their business, are stationary in 
one place for months on end, and here the 
gardener as a rule has an opportunity for the 
indulgence of his pursuit. In clearing-hospitals, 
ammunition-parks, and Army Service Corps 
supply points, there are, I believe, many such 

163 



164 ACTION FRONT 

fixed abodes; but the manners and customs of 
the inhabitants of such happy resting-places are 
practically unknown to the men who live month 
in month out in a narrow territory, bounded 
on the east by the forward firing line and on 
the west by the line of the battery posi- 
tions, or at farthest the villages of the reserve 
billets. In any case these places are rather out- 
side the scope of tales dealing with what may 
be called the " Under Fire Front,' ' and it was 
this front which I had in mind when I said that 
gardening did not receive much encourage- 
ment at the front. But during the first spring 
of the War I know of at least one enthusiast 
who did his utmost, metaphorically speaking, to 
beat his sword into a plowshare, and to turn 
aside at every opportunity from the duty of 
killing Germans to the pleasures of growing 
potatoes. He was a gunner in the detachment 
of the Blue Marines, which ran a couple of ar- 
mored motor-cars carrying anti-aircraft guns. 
It is one of the advantages of this branch of 
the air-war that when a suitable position is 
fixed on for defense of any other position, the 
detachment may stay there for some consider- 
able time. There are other advantages which 
will unfold themselves to those initiated in the 
ways of the trench zone, although those out- 
side of it may miss them ; but everyone will see 
that prolonged stays in the one position give the 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 165 

gardener his opportunity. In this particular 
unit of the Blue Marines was a gunner who 
intensely loved the potting and planting, the 
turning over of yielding earth, the bedding-out 
and transplanting, the watering and weeding 
and tending of a garden, possibly because the 
greater part of his life had been lived at sea in 
touch with nothing more yielding than a steel 
plate or a hard plank. 

The gunner was known throughout the unit 
by no other name than Mary, fittingly taken 
from the nursery rhyme which inquires, ' ' Mary, 
Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden 
grow?" The similarity between Mary of the 
Blue Marines and Mary of the nursery rhyme 
ends, however, with the first line, since Blue 
Marine Mary made no attempt to rear 1 1 silver 
bells and cockle shells" (whatever they may 
be) all in a row. His whole energies were de- 
voted to the raising of much more practical 
things, like lettuces, radishes, carrots, spring 
onions, and any other vegetable which has the 
commendable reputation of arriving reasonably 
early at maturity. 

Twice that spring Mary's labors had been 
wasted because the section had moved before 
the time was ripe from a gardener's point of 
view, and although Mary strove to transplant 
his garden by uprooting the vegetables, pack- 
ing them away in a box in the motor, and plant- 



166 ACTION FRONT 

ing them out in the new position, the vegetables 
failed to survive the breaking of their home 
ties, and languished and died in spite of Mary's 
tender care. After the first failure he tried to 
lay out a portable garden, enlisting the aid of 
" Chips" the carpenter in the manufacture of 
a number of boxes, in which he placed earth 
and his new seedlings. This attempt, however, 
failed even more disastrously than the first, the 
O.C. having made a most unpleasant fuss on the 
discovery of two large boxes of mustard and 
cress " cluttering up," as he called it, the gun- 
mountings on one of the armored cars, and, 
when the section moved suddenly in the dead 
of night, refusing point-blank to allow any 
available space to be loaded up with Mary's 
budding garden. Mary's plaintive inquiry as 
to what he was to do with the boxes was met by 
the brutal order to " chuck the lot overboard," 
and the counter-inquiry as to whether he 
thought this show was a perambulating botani- 
cal gardens. 

So Mary lost his second garden complete, 
even unto the box of spring onions which were 
the apple of his gardening eye. But he brisked 
up when the new position was established and 
he learned through the officer 's servant that the 
selected spot was considered an excellent one, 
and offered every prospect of being held by the 
section for a considerable time. He selected a 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 167 

favorable spot and proceeded once more to lay 
out a garden and to plant out a new lot of vege- 
tables. 

The section's new position was only some fif- 
teen hundred yards from the forward trench; 
but, being at the bottom of a gently sloping 
ridge which ran between the position and the 
German lines, it was covered from all except air 
observation. The two armored cars, containing 
guns, were hidden away amongst the shattered 
ruins of a little hamlet ; their armor-plated bod- 
ies, already rendered as inconspicuous as pos- 
sible by erratic daubs of bright colors laid on 
after the most approved Futurist style, were 
further hidden by untidy wisps of straw, a few 
casual beams, and any other of the broken rub- 
bish which had once been a village. The men 
had their quarters in the cellars of one of the 
broken houses, and the two officers inhabited 
the corner of a house with a more or less re- 
maining roof. 

Mary 's garden was in a sunny corner of what 
had been in happier days the back garden of 
one of the cottages. The selection, as it turned 
out, was not altogether a happy one, because 
the garden, when abandoned by its former 
owner, had run to seed most liberally, and the 
whole of its area appeared to be impregnated 
with a variety of those seeds which give the 
most trouble to the new possessor of an old 



168 ACTION FRONT 

garden. Anyone with the real gardening in- 
stinct appears to have no difficulty in distin- 
guishing between weeds and otherwise, even on 
their first appearance in shape of a microscopic 
green shoot; but flowers are not weeds, and 
Mary had a good deal of trouble to distinguish 
between the self-planted growths of nastur- 
tiums, foxgloves, marigolds, f orget-xne-nots, and 
other flowers, and the more prosaic but useful 
carrots and spring onions which Mary had in- 
troduced. Probably a good many onions suf- 
fered the penalty of bad company, and were 
sacrificed in the belief that they were flowers; 
but on the whole the new garden did well, and 
began to show the trim rows of green shoots 
which afford such joy to the gardening soul. 
The shoots grew rapidly, and as time passed un- 
eventfully and the section remained unmoved, 
the garden flourished and the vegetables drew 
near to the day when they would be fit for con- 
sumption. 

Mary gloated over that garden ; he went to a 
world of trouble with it, he bent over it and 
weeded it for hours on end; he watered it re- 
ligiously every night, he even erected miniature 
forcing frames over some of the vegetable rows, 
ransacking the remains of the broken-down 
hamlet for squares of glass or for any pieces 
large enough for his purpose. He built these 
cunningly with frameworks of wood and un- 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 169 

twisted strands of barbed wire, and there is no 
doubt they helped the growth of his garden im- 
mensely. 

Although they have not been touched upon, 
it must not be supposed that Mary had no other 
duties. Despite our frequently announced 
6 ' Supremacy of the Air, ' ' the anti-aircraft guns 
were in action rather frequently. The German 
aeroplanes in this part of the line appeared to 
ignore the repeated assurances in our Press 
that the German 'plane invariably makes off 
on the appearance of a British one; and al- 
though it is true that in almost every case the 
German was "turned back," he very frequently 
postponed the turning until he had sailed up 
and down the line a few times and seen, it may 
be supposed, all that there was to see. 

At such times — and they happened as a rule 
at least once a day and occasionally two, three, 
or four times a day — Mary had to run from his 
gardening and help man the guns. 

In the course of a month the section shot 
away many thousands of shells, and, it is to be 
hoped, severely frightened many German pilots, 
although at that time they could only claim to 
have brought down one 'plane, and that in a 
descent so far behind the German lines that 
its fate was uncertain. 

It must be admitted that the gunners on the 
whole made excellent shooting, and if they did 



170 ACTION FEONT 

not destroy their target, or even make him turn 
back, they fulfilled the almost equally useful 
object of making him keep so high that he could 
do little useful observing. But the short pe- 
riods of time spent by the section in shooting 
were no more than enough to add a pleasant 
flavor of sport to life, and on the whole, since 
the weather was good and the German gunnery 
was not — or at least not good enough to be 
troublesome to the section — life during that 
month moved very pleasantly. 

But at last there came a day when it looked 
as if some of the inconveniences of war were 
due to arrive. The German aeroplane appeared 
as usual one morning just after the section had 
completed breakfast. The methodical regular- 
ity of hours kept by the German pilots added 
considerably to the comfort and convenience of 
the section by allowing them to time their hours 
of sleep, their meals, or an afternoon run by 
the O.C. on the motor into the near-by town, so 
as to fit in nicely with the duty of anti-aircraft 
guns. 

On this morning at the usual hour the aero- 
plane appeared, and the gunners, who were 
waiting in handy proximity to the cars, jumped 
to their stations. The muzzles of the two- 
pounder pom-poms moved slowly after their 
target, and when the range-indicator told that 
it was within reach of their shells the first 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 171 

gun opened with a trial beltf ul. ' ' Bang — bang 
— bang — bang!" it shouted, a string of shells 
singing and sighing on their way into silence. 
In a few seconds, "Puff — puff — puff — puff!" 
four pretty little white balls broke out and 
floated solid against the sky. They appeared 
well below their target, and both the muzzles 
tilted a little and barked off another flight of 
shells. This time they appeared to burst in 
beautiful proximity to the racing aeroplane, 
and immediately the two-pounders opened a 
steady and accurate bombardment. The shells 
were evidently dangerously close to the 'plane, 
for it tilted sharply and commenced to climb 
steadily; but it still held on its way over the 
British lines, and the course it was taking it 
was evident would bring it almost directly over 
the Blue Marines and their guns. The pom- 
poms continued their steady yap-yap, jerking 
and springing between each round, like eager 
terriers jumping the length of their chain, re- 
coiling and jumping, and yelping at every jump. 
But although the shells were dead in line the 
range was too great, and the guns slowed down 
their rate of fire, merely rapping off an occa- 
sional few rounds to keep the observer at a re- 
spectful distance, without an unnecessary waste 
of ammunition. 

Arrived above them, the aeroplane banked 
steeply and swung round in a complete circle. 



172 ACTION FRONT 

"Dash his impudence," growled the captain. 
"Slap at him again, just for luck." The only 
effect the resulting slap at him had, however, 
was to show the 'plane pilot that he was well 
out of range and to bring him spiraling steeply 
down a good thousand feet. This brought him 
within reach of the shells again, and both guns 
opened rapidly, dotting the sky thickly with 
beautiful white puffs of smoke, through which 
the enemy sailed swiftly. Then suddenly an- 
other shape and color of smoke appeared be- 
neath him, and a red light burst from it flaring 
and floating slowly downwards. Another fol- 
lowed, and then another, and the 'plane 
straightened out its course, swerved, and 
flashed swiftly off down-wind, pursued to the 
limit of their range by the raving pom-poms. 
"Which it seems to me," said the Blue Marine 
sergeant reflectively, "that our Tauby had us 
spotted and was signaling his guns to call and 
leave a card on us." 

That afternoon showed some proof of the 
correctness of the sergeant's supposition; a 
heavy shell soared over and dropped with a 
crash in an open field some two hundred yards 
beyond the outermost house of the hamlet. In 
live minutes another followed, and in the same 
field blew out a hole about twenty yards from 
the first. A third made another hole another 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 173 

twenty yards off, and a fourth again at the same 
interval. 

When the performance ceased, the captain 
and his lieutenant held a conference over the 
matter. "It looks as if we'd have to shift,' ' 
said the captain. "That fellow has got us 
marked down right enough." 

"If he doesn't come any nearer," said the 
lieutenant, "we're all right. We won't need 
to take cover when the shelling starts, and even 
if the guns are shooting when the German is 
shelling, the armor-plate will easily stand off 
splinters from that distance." 

"Yes," said the captain. "But do you sup- 
pose our friend the Flighty Hun won't have a 
peep at us to-morrow morning to see where 
those shells landed? If he does, or if he takes 
a photograph, those holes will show up like a 
chalk-mark on a blackboard; then he has only 
to tell his gun to step this way a couple of hun- 
dred yards and we get it in the neck. I'm in- 
clined to think we'd better up anchor and 
away. ' ' 

"We're pretty comfortable here, you know," 
urged the lieutenant, ' l and it 's a pity to get out. 
It might be that those shots were blind chance. 
I vote for waiting another day, anyhow, and 
seeing what happens. At the worst we can pack 
up and stand by with steam up; then if the 



174 ACTION FRONT 

shells pitch too near we can slip the cable and 
run for it. ' ' 

"Right-oh!" said the captain. 

Next morning the enemy aeroplane appeared 
again at its appointed hour and sailed over- 
head, leaving behind it a long wake of smoke- 
puffs; and at the same hour in the afternoon 
as the previous shelling the German gun opened 
fire, dropping its first shell neatly fifty yards 
further from the shell-holes of the day before. 
The aeroplane, of course, had reported, or its 
photograph had shown, the previous day's 
shells to have dropped apparently fifty yards 
to the left of the hamlet. The gun accordingly 
corrected its aim and opened fire on a spot fifty 
yards more to the right. For hours it bom- 
barded that suffering field energetically, and at 
the end of that time, when they were satisfied 
the shelling was over, the Blue Marines climbed 
from their cellar. Next morning the aeroplane 
appeared again, and the Blue Marines allowed 
it this time to approach unattacked. Convinced 
probably by this and the appearance of the 
numerous shell-pits scattered round the gun 
position, the aeroplane swooped lower to verify 
its observations. Unfortunately another anti- 
aircraft gun a mile further along the line 
thought this too good an opportunity to miss, 
and opened rapid fire. The 'plane leaped up- 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 175 

ward and away, and the Blue Marines sped on 
its way with a stream of following shells. 

"If the Huns' minds work on the fixed and 
appointed path, one would expect the same old 
field will get a strafing this afternoon,' ' said 
the captain afterwards. ' * The airman will have 
seen the village knocked about, and if he knew 
that those last shells came from here he'll just 
conclude that yesterday's shooting missed us, 
and the gunners will have another whale at us 
this afternoon." 

He was right; the gun had "another whale" 
at them, and again dug many holes in the old 
field. 

But next morning the Germans played a new 
and disconcerting game. The aeroplane hov- 
ered high above and dropped a light, and a min- 
ute later the Blue Marines heard a shrill 
whistle, that grew and changed to a whoop, and 
ended with the same old crash in the same old 
field. 

"Now," said the captain. "Stand by for 
trouble. That brute is spotting for his gun." 

The aeroplane dropped a light, turned, and 
circled round to the left. Five minutes later 
another shell screamed over, and this time fell 
crashing into the hamlet. The hit was palpable 
and unmistakable ; a huge dense cloud of smoke 
and mortar-, lime-, and red brick-dust leapt and 
billowed and hung heavily over the village. 



176 ACTION FRONT 

"This," said the captain rapidly, "is where 
we do the rabbit act. Get to cover, all of you, 
and lie low." 

They did the rabbit act, scuttling amongst 
the broken houses to the shelter of their cellar 
and diving hastily into it. Another shell ar- 
rived, shrieking wrathfully, smashed into an- 
other broken house, and scattered its ruins in a 
whirlwind of flying fragments. 

Now Mary, of course, was in the cellar with 
the rest, and Mary's garden was in full view 
from the cellar entrance, and twenty or twenty- 
five yards from it. The rest of the party were 
surprised to see Mary, as the loud clatter of fall- 
ing stones subsided, leap for the cellar steps, 
run up them, and disappear out into the open. 
He was back in a couple of minutes. "I just 
wondered," he said breathlessly, "if those 
blighters had done any damage to my vege- 
tables." When another shell came he popped 
up again for another look, and this time he 
dodged back and said many unprintable things 
until the next shell landed. He looked a little 
relieved when he came back this time. "This 
one was farther away," he said, "but that one 
afore dropped somebody's hearth-stone inside 
a dozen paces from my onion bed." For the 
next half -hour the big shells pounded the vil- 
lage, tearing the ruins apart, battering down the 
walls, blasting huge holes in the road and be- 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 177 

tween the houses, re-destroying all that had al- 
ready been destroyed, and completing the de- 
struction of some of the few parts that had 
hitherto escaped. 

Between rounds Mary ran up and looked out. 
Once he rushed across to his garden and came 
back cursing impotently, to report a shell fallen 
close to the garden, his carefully erected forcing 
frames shattered to splinters by the shock, and 
a hail of small stones and the ruins of an iron 
stove dropped obliteratingly across his car- 
rots. 

"If only they'd left this crazy shooting for 
another week, ' ' said Mary, ' ' a whole lot of those 
things would have been ready for pulling up. 
The onions is pretty near big enough to eat 
now, and I've half a mind to pull some o' them 
before that cock-eyed Hun lands a shell in me 
garden and blows it to glory.' ' 

Later he ran out, pulled an onion, a carrot, 
and a lettuce, brought them back to the cellar, 
proudly passed them round, and anxiously de- 
manded an opinion as to whether they were 
ready for pulling, and counsel as to whether 
he ought to strip his garden. 

"Now look here!" said the sergeant at last; 
"you let your bloomin' garden alone; I'm not 
going to have you running out there plucking 
carrot and onion nosegays under fire. If a shell 
blows your garden half-way through to Aus- 



178 ACTION FRONT 

tralia, I can't help it, and neither can yon. I'll 
be quite happy to split a dish of spuds with you 
if so be your garden offers them up ; but I 'm not 
going to have you casualtied rescuing your per- 
ishing radishes under fire. Nothing '11 be said 
to me if your garden is strafed off the earth; 
but there's a whole lot going to be said if you 
are strafed along with it, and I have to report 
that you had disobeyed orders and not kept 
under cover, and that I had looked on while 
you broke ship and was blown to blazes with a 
boo-kay of onions in your hand. So just you 
anchor down there till the owner pipes to carry 
on." 

Mary had no choice but to obey, and when at 
last the shelling was over he rushed to the gar- 
den and examined it with anxious care. He was 
in a more cheerful mood when he rejoined the 
others. ' ' It ain 't so bad, ' ' he said. i ' Total cas- 
ualties, half the carrots killed, the radish-bed 
severely wounded (half a chimney-pot did that), 
and some o' the onions slightly wounded by 
bits of gravel. But what do you reckon the own- 
er's going to do now? Has he given any orders 
yet?" 

No orders had been given, but the betting 
amongst the Blue Marines was about ninety- 
seven to one in favor of their moving. Sure 
enough, orders were given to pack up and pre- 
pare to move as soon as it was dark, and the 



ANTI-AIRCRAFT 179 

captain went off with a working party to recon- 
noiter a new position and prepare places for the 
cars. Mary was sent off in "the shore boat" 
(otherwise the light runabout which carried 
them on duty or pleasure to and from the ten- 
mile-distant town) with orders to draw the 
day's rations, collect the day's mail, buy the 
day's papers, and return to the village, being 
back not later than five o 'clock. 

It was made known that the position to which 
the captain contemplated moving was one in a 
clump of trees within half a mile of the position 
they were leaving. Mary was hugely satisfied. 
"That ain't half bad," he said when he heard. 
"I can walk over and water the garden at night, 
and pop across any time between the Tauby's 
usual promenade hours and do a bit o' weeding, 
and just keep an eye on things generally. And 
inside a week we're going to have carrots for 
dinner every day, and spring onions. Hey, my 
lads ! what about bread and cheese and spring 
onions, wot?" 

He climbed aboard the run-about, drove out 
of the yard, and rattled off down the road. He 
executed his commissions, and was sailing hap- 
pily back to the village, when about a mile short 
of it a sitting figure rose from the roadside, 
stepped forward, and waved an arresting hand. 
To his surprise, Mary saw that it was one of 
the Blue Marines. 



180 ACTION FRONT 

" What's up?" he said, as the Marine came 
round to the side and proceeded to step on 
board. 

"Orders," said the Marine briefly. "I was 
looking out for you. Change course and direc- 
tion and steer for the new anchorage.' ' 

"The idea being wot?" asked Mary. 

"We've been in action again," said the 
Marine gloomily. "Only two shells this time, 
but they did more damage than all the rest put 
together this morning." 

1 ' More damage ? ' ' gasped Mary. i l Wot — wot 
have they damaged?" 

The Marine ticked off the damages on his 
fingers one by one. 

"Car hit, badly damaged, and down by the 
stern; gun out of action — mounting smashed; 
the sergeant hit, piece of his starboard leg car- 
ried away; and five men slightly wounded." 

He dropped his hands, which Mary took as 
a sign that the tally was finished. "Is that 
all?" he said, and breathed a sigh of relief. 
"Strewth! I thought you was going to tell me 
that my garden had been gott-straffed." 



A FRAGMENT 

This is not a story, it is rather a fragment, 
beginning where usually a battle story ends, 
with a man being " casualtied, ' ' showing the 
principal character only in a passive part — a 
very passive part — and ending, I am afraid, 
with a lot of unsatisfactory loose ends ungath- 
ered up. I only tell it because I fancy that at 
the back of it you may find some hint of the 
spirit that has helped the British Army in many 
a tight corner. 

Private Wally Ruthven was knocked out by 
the bursting of a couple of bombs in his bat- 
talion's charge on the front line German 
trenches. Any account of the charge need not 
be given here, except that it failed, and the 
battalion making it, or what was left of them, 
beaten back. Private Wally knew nothing of 
this, knew nothing of the renewed British bom- 
bardment, the renewed British attack half a 
dozen hours later, and again its renewed fail- 
ure. All this time he was lying where the force 
of the bomb's explosion had thrown him, in a 
hole blasted out of the ground by a bursting 
shell. During all that time he was unconscious 

181 



182 ACTION FRONT 

of anything except pain, although certainly he 
had enough of that to keep his mind very fully 
occupied. He was brought back to an agonizing 
consciousness by the hurried grip of strong 
hands and a wrenching lift that poured liquid 
flames of pain through every nerve in his 
mangled body. To say that he was badly 
wounded hardly describes the case; an 
R.A.M.C. orderly afterwards described his ap- 
pearance with painful picturesqueness as * ' raw 
meat on a butcher's block,' ' and indeed it is 
doubtful if the stretcher-bearers who lifted him 
from the shell-hole would not rather have left 
him lying there and given their brief time and 
badly needed services to a casualty more prom- 
ising of recovery, if they had seen at first Pri- 
vate Ruthven's serious condition. As it was, 
one stretcher-bearer thought and said the man 
was dead, and was for tipping him off the 
stretcher again. Ruthven heard that and 
opened his eyes to look at the speaker, although 
at the moment it would not have troubled him 
much if he had been tipped off again. But the 
other stretcher-bearer said there was still life 
in him; and partly because the ground about 
them was pattering with bullets, and the air 
about them clamant and reverberating with the 
rush and roar of passing and exploding shells 
and bombs, and that particular spot, therefore, 
no place or time for argument; partly because 



A FRAGMENT 183 

stretcher-bearers have a stubborn conviction 
and fundamental belief— which, by the way, has 
saved many a life even against their own mo- 
mentary judgment— that while there is life 
there is hope, that a man "isn't dead till he's 
buried," and finally that a stretcher must al- 
ways be brought in with a load, a live one if 
possible, and the nearest thing to alive if not, 
they brought him in. 

The stretcher-bearers carried their burden 
into the front trench and there attempted to set 
about the first bandaging of their casualty. 
The job, however, was quite beyond them, but 
one of them succeeded in finding a doctor, who 
in all the uproar of a desperate battle was play- 
ing Mahomet to the mountain of such cases as 
could not come to him in the field dressing sta- 
tion. The orderly requested the doctor to come 
to the casualty, who was so badly wounded that 
"he near came to bits when we lifted him." 
The doctor, who had several urgent cases 
within arm's length of him as he worked at the 
moment, said that he would come as soon as he 
could, and told the orderly in the meantime to 
go and bandage any minor wounds his casualty 
might have. The bearer replied that there 
were no minor wounds, that the man was "just 
nothing but one big wound all over"; and as 
for bandaging, that he "might as well try to do 
first aid on a pound of meat that had run 



184 ACTION FRONT 

through a mincing machine." The doctor at 
last, hobbling painfully and leaning on the 
stretcher-bearer — for he himself had been twice 
wounded, once in the foot by a piece of shrap- 
nel, and once through the tip of the shoulder by 
a rifle bullet — came to Private Ruthven. He 
spent a good deal of time and innumerable 
yards of bandages on him, so that when the 
stretcher-bearers brought him into the dressing 
station there was little but bandages to be seen 
of him. The stretcher-bearer delivered a mes- 
sage from the doctor that there was very little 
hope, so that Ruthven for the time being was 
merely given an injection of morphia and put 
aside. 

The approaches to the dressing station and 
the station itself were under so severe a fire 
for some hours afterwards that it was impos- 
sible for any ambulance to be brought near it. 
Such casualties as could walk back walked, oth- 
ers were carried slowly and painfully to a point 
which the ambulances had a fair sporting 
chance of reaching intact. One way and an- 
other a good many hours passed before Ruth- 
ven's turn came to be removed. The doctor 
who had bandaged him in the firing-line had by 
then returned to the dressing station, mainly 
because his foot had become too painful to 
allow him to use it at all. Merely as an aside, 
and although it has nothing to do with Private 



A FRAGMENT 185 

Ruthven 's case, it may be worth mentioning 
that the same doctor, having cleaned, sterilized, 
and bandaged his wounds, remained in the 
dressing station for another twelve hours, do- 
ing such work as could be accomplished sitting 
in a chair and with one sound and one unsound 
arm. He saw Private Ruthven for a moment 
as he was being started on his journey to the 
ambulance; he remembered the case, as indeed 
everyone who handled or saw that case remem- 
bered it for many days, and, moved by profes- 
sional interest and some amazement that the 
man was still alive, he hobbled from his chair 
to look at him. He found Private Ruthven re- 
turning his look; for the passing of time and 
the excess of pain had by now overcome the 
effects of the morphia injection. There was a 
hauntingly appealing look in the eyes that 
looked up at him, and the doctor tried to answer 
the question he imagined those eyes would have 
conveyed. 

"I don't know, my boy," he said, "whether 
you'll pull through, but we'll do the best we can 
for you. And now we have you here we '11 have 
you back in hospital in no time, and there you'll 
get every chance there is." 

He imagined the question remained in those 
eyes still unsatisfied, and that Ruthven gave 
just the suggestion of a slow head-shake. 

"Don't give up, my boy," he said briskly. 



186 ACTION FRONT 

"We might save you yet. Now I'm going to 
take away the pain for you," and he called an 
orderly to bring a hypodermic injection. While 
he was finding a place among the bandages to 
make the injection, the orderly who was waiting 
spoke: "I believe, sir, he's trying to ask some- 
thing or say something." 

It has to be told here that Private Ruthven 
could say nothing in the terms of ordinary 
speech, and would never be able to do so again. 
Without going into details it will be enough to 
say that the whole lower part of — well, his face 
— was tightly bound about with bandages, leav- 
ing little more than his nostrils, part of his 
cheeks, and his eyes clear. He was frowning now 
and again, just shaking his head to denote a 
negative, and his left hand, bound to the bigness 
of a football in bandages, moved slowly in an 
endeavor to push aside the doctor's hands. 

"It's all right, my lad," the doctor said 
soothingly. " I 'm not going to hurt you. ' ' 

The frown cleared for an instant and the elo- 
quent eyes appeared to smile, as indeed the lad 
might well have smiled at the thought that any- 
one could "hurt" such a bundle of pain. But 
although it appeared quite evident that Ruthven 
did not want morphia, the doctor in his wisdom 
decreed otherwise, and the jolting journey down 
the rough shell-torn road, and the longer but 



A FRAGMENT 187 

smoother journey in the sweetly-sprnng motor 
ambulance, were accomplished in sleep. 

When he wakened again to consciousness he 
lay for some time looking about him, moving 
only his eyes and very slowly his head. He took 
in the canvas walls and roof of the big hospital 
marquee, the scarlet-blanketed beds, the flitting 
figures of a couple of silent-footed Sisters, the 
screens about two of the beds ; the little clump of 
figures, doctor, orderlies, and Sister, stooped 
over another bed. Presently he caught the eye 
of a Sister as she passed swiftly the foot of his 
bed, and she, seeing the appealing look, the 
barely perceptible upward twitch of his head 
that was all he could do to beckon, stopped and 
turned, and moved quickly to his side. She 
smoothed the pillow about his head and the 
sheets across his shoulders, and spoke softly. 

"I wonder if there is anything you want?" 
she said. "You can't tell me, can you? just 
close your eyes a minute if there is anything I 
can do. Shut them for yes — keep them open 
for no. ' ' 

The eyes closed instantly, opened, and stared 
upward at her. 

"Is it the pain?" she said. "Is it very 
dreadful?" 

The eyes held steady and unflickering upon 
hers. She knew well that there they did not 



188 ACTION FEONT 

speak truth, and that the pain must indeed be 
very dreadful. 

"We can stop the pain, you know," she said. 
"Is that what you want?" 

The steady unwinking eyes answered "No" 
again, and to add emphasis to it the bandaged 
head shook slowly from side to side on the pil- 
low. 

The Sister was puzzled; she could find out 
what he wanted, of course, she was confident of 
that; but it might take some time and many 
questions, and time just then was something 
that she or no one else in the big clearing hospi- 
tal could find enough of for the work in their 
hands. Even then urgent work was calling her ; 
so she left him, promising to come again as soon 
as she could. 

She spoke to the doctor, and presently he 
came back with her to the bedside. "It's mar- 
velous," he said in a low tone to the Sister, 
"that he has held on to life so long." 

Private Euthven's wounds had been dressed 
there on arrival, before he woke out of the 
morphia sleep, and the doctor had seen and 
knew. 

"There is nothing we can do for him," he 
said, "except morphia again, to ease him out 
of his pain." 

But again the boy, his brow wrinkling with 



A FRAGMENT 189 

the effort, attempted with his bandaged hand to 
stay the needle in the doctor's fingers. 

"I'm sure," said the Sister, "he doesn't want 
the morphia; he told me so, didn't you?" ap- 
pealing to the boy. 

The eyes shut and gripped tight in an em- 
phatic answer, and the Sister explained their 
code. 

1 ' Listen ! ' ' she said gently. ' l The doctor will 
only give you enough to make you sleep for two 
or three hours, and then I shall have time to 
come and talk to you. Will that do?" 

The unmoving eyes answered "No" again, 
and the doctor stood up. 

"If he can bear it, Sister," he said, "we may 
as well leave him. I can't understand it, though. 
I know how those wounds must hurt." 

They left him then, and he lay for another 
couple of hours, his eyes set on the canvas roof 
above his head, dropped for an instant to any 
passing figure, lifting again to their fixed posi- 
tion. The eyes and the mute appeal in them 
haunted the Sister, and half a dozen times, as 
she moved about the beds, she flitted over to 
him, just to drop a word that she had not for- 
gotten and she was coming presently. 

"You want me to talk to you, don't you?" 
she said. ' ' There is something you want me to 
find out?" 



190 ACTION FEONT 

"Yes — yes — yes," said the quickly flickering 
eyelids. 

The Sister read the label that was tied to him 
when he was brought in. She asked questions 
round the ward of those who were able to an- 
swer them, and sent an orderly to make in- 
quiries in the other tents. He came back pres- 
ently and reported the finding of another man 
who belonged to Ruthven's regiment and who 
knew him. So presently, when she was relieved 
from duty — the first relief for thirty-six solid 
hours of physical stress and heart-tearing strain 
— she went straight to the other tent and ques- 
tioned the man who knew Private Ruthven. He 
had a hopelessly shattered arm, but appeared 
mightily content and amazingly cheerful. He 
knew Wally, he said, was in the same platoon 
with him; didn't know much about him except 
that he was a very decent sort ; no, knew noth- 
ing about his people or his home, although he 
remembered — yes, there was a girl. Wally had 
shown him her photograph once, "and a real 
ripper she is too." Didn't know if Wally was 
engaged to her, or anything more about her, 
and certainly not her name. 

The Sister went back to Wally. His wrinkled 
brow cleared at the sight of her, but she could 
see that the eyes were sunk more deeply in his 
head, that they were dulled, no doubt with his 
suffering. 



A FRAGMENT 191 

' 'I'm going to ask you a lot of questions,' ' 
she said, "and you'll just close your eyes again 
if I speak of what you want to tell me. You 
do want to tell me something, don't you?" 

To her surprise, the "Yes" was not signaled 
back to her. She was puzzled a moment. "You 
want to ask me something?" she said. 

"Yes," the eyelids flicked back. 

"Is it about a girl?" she asked. ("No.") 
"Is it about money of any sort?" ("No.") 
"Is it about your mother, or your people, or 
your home? Is it about yourself ?" 

She had paused after each question and went 
on to the next, but seeing no sign of answering 
"Yes" she was baffled for a moment. But she 
felt that she could not go to her own bed to 
which she had been dismissed, could not go to 
the sleep she so badly needed, until she had 
found and answered the question in those pitiful 
eyes. She tried again. 

"Is it about your regiment?" she asked, and 
the eyes snapped "Yes," and "Yes," and 
"Yes" again. She puzzled over that, and then 
went back to the doctor in charge of the other 
ward and brought back with her the man who 
"knew Wally." Mentally she clapped her 
hands at the light that leaped to the boy's eyes. 
She had told the man that it was something 
about the regiment he wanted to know; told 
him, too, his method of answering "Yes" and 



192 ACTION FEONT 

"No," and to put his questions in such a form 
that they could be so answered. 

The friend advanced to the bedside with 
clumsy caution. 

"Hello, Wally!" he said cheerfully. 
"They've pretty well chewed you up and spit 
you out again, 'aven't they! But you're all 
right, old son, you're going to pull through, 
'cause the O.C. o' the Linseed Lancers 1 here 
told me so. But Sister here tells me you want 
to ask something about someone in the old 
crush." He hesitated a moment. "I can't 
think who it would be, ' ' he confessed. ' ' It can 't 
be his own chum, 'cause he ' stopped one,' and 
Wally saw it and knew he was dead hours be- 
fore. But look 'ere," he said determinedly, 
"I'll go through the whole bloomin' regiment, 
from the O.C. down to the cook, by name and 
one at a time, and you'll tip me a wink and 
stop me at the right one. I '11 start off with our 
own platoon first ; that ought to do it, ' ' he said 
to the Sister. 

"Perhaps," she said quickly, "he wants to 
ask about one of his officers. Is that it?" And 
she turned to him. 

The eyes looked at her long and steadily, and 
then closed flutteringly and hesitatingly. 

1 ' We 're coming near it, ' ' she said, ' ' although 
he didn't seem sure about that 'Yes.' " 

1 Medical Service. 



A FRAGMENT 193 

said the other, with a sudden 
inspiration, "there's no good o' this 'Yes' and 
'No' guessin' game; Wally and me was both 
in the flag-wagging class, and we knows enough 
to — there you are." He broke off in triumph 
and nodded to Wally 's flickering eyelids, that 
danced rapidly in the long and short of the 
Morse code. 

"Y-e-s. Ac-ac-ac." 1 

' ' Yes, ' ' he said. * ' If you '11 get a bit of paper, 
Sister, you can write down the message while I 
spells it off. That's what you want, ain't it, 
chum?" 

The Sister took paper and pencil and wrote 
the letters one by one as the code ticked them 
off and the reader called them to her. 

"Ready. Begins!" Go on, Miss, write it 
down," as she hesitated. "Don-I-Don — Did; 
W-E— we; Toc-ac-K-E— take ; Toc-H-E— the; 
Toc-R-E-N-C-H — trench ; ac-ac-ac. Did we take 
the trench?" 

The signaler being a very unimaginative 
man, possibly it might never have occurred to 
him to lie, to have told anything but the blunt 
truth that they did not take the trench; that 
the regiment had been cut to pieces in the at- 
tempt to take it; that the further attempt of 
another regiment on the same trench had been 

1 Ac-ac-ac : three A's, denoting a full stop. In " Signalese " 
similar-sounding letters are given names to avoid confusion. A 
is Ac; T, Toe; D, Don; P, Pip; M, Emma, etc. 



194 ACTION FRONT 

beaten back with horrible loss ; that the lines on 
both sides, when he was sent to the rear late 
at night, were held exactly as they had been 
held before the attack; that the whole result of 
the action was nil — except for the casualty list. 
But he caught just in time the softly sighing 
whispered "Yes" from the unmoving lips of 
the Sister, and he lied promptly and swiftly, ef- 
ficiently and at full length. 

' ' Yes, ' ' he said. ' ' We took it. I thought you 
knew that, and that you was wounded the other 
side of it; we took it all right. Got a hammer- 
ing of course, but what was left of us cleared 
it with the bayonet. You should 'ave 'eard 'em 
squeal when the bayonet took 'em. There was 
one big brute " 

He was proceeding with a cheerful imagina- 
tion, colored by past experiences, when the Sis- 
ter stopped him. Wally 's eyes were closed. 

"I think/' she said quietly, "that's all that 
Wally wants to know. Isn't it, Wally?" 

The lids lifted slowly and the Sister could 
have cried at the glory and satisfaction that 
shone in them. They closed once softly, lifted 
slowly, and closed again tiredly and gently. 
That is all. Wally died an hour afterwards. 



AN OPEN TOWN 

"Yesterday hostile artillery shelled the town 

of some miles behind our lines, without 

military result. Several civilians were killed." 
— Extract from Despatch. 

Two officers were cashing checks in the Bank 
of France and chatting with the cashier, who 
was telling them about a bombardment of the 
town the day before. The bank had removed 
itself and its business to the underground 
vaults, and the large room on the ground floor, 
with its polished mahogany counters, brass 
grills and desks, loomed dim and indistinct in 
the light which filtered past the sandbags piled 
outside. The walls bore notices with a black 
hand pointing downwards to the cellar steps, 
and the big room echoed eerily to the footsteps 
of customers, who tramped across the tiled floor 
and disappeared downstairs to the vaults. 

"One shell/ ' the cashier was saying, "fell 
close outside there,' ' waving a hand up the cel- 
lar steps. "Bang! crash! we feel the building 
shake — so." His hands left their task of count- 
ing notes, seized an imaginary person by the 

195 



196 ACTION FEONT 

lapels of an imaginary coat and shook him vio- 
lently. 

"The noise, the great c-r-rash, the shoutings, 
the little squeals, and then the peoples running, 
the glasses breaking — tinkle — tinkle — you have 
seen the smoke, thick black smoke, and smelling 
— pah!" 

He wrinkled his nose with disgust. "At first 
— for one second — I think the bank is hit; but 
no, it is the street outside. Little stones — yes, 
and splinters, through the windows ; they come 
and hit all round, inside — rap, rap, rap!" His 
darting hand played the splinters ' part, indicat- 
ing with little pointing stabs the ceiling and the 
walls. "Mademoiselle there, you see? yes! one 
little piece of shell," and he held finger and 
thumb to illustrate an inch-long fragment. 

The two officers looked at Mademoiselle, an 
exceedingly pretty young girl, sitting compos- 
edly at a typewriter. There was a strip of 
plaster marring the smooth cheek, and at the 
cashier's words she looked round at the young 
officers, flashed them a cheerful smile, and re- 
turned to her hammering on the key-board. 

"My word, Mademoiselle," said one of the 
officers. "Near thing, eh? I wonder you are 
not scared to carry on." 

The girl turned a slightly puzzled glance on 
them. 

"Monsieur means," explained the cashier 



AN OPEN TOWN 197 

friendlily to her, "is it that you have no fear — 
peur, to continue the affairs?" 

Mademoiselle smiled brightly and shook her 
head. "But no," she said cheerfully, "it is 
nossings," and went back to her work. 

"Jolly plucky girl, I think," said the officer. 
"Nearly as plucky as she is pretty. I say, old 
man, my French isn't up to handling a compli- 
ment like that; see if you can " 

He did not finish the sentence, for at that 
moment there was a faint f ar-off hang, and they 
sensed rather than felt a faint quiver in the 
solid earth beneath their feet. The cashier 
held up one hand and stood with head turned 
sideways in an attitude of listening. 

"You hear?" he said, arching his eyebrows. 

"What was it!" said the officer. "Sounded 
like a door banging upstairs." 

"No, no," said the cashier. "They have 
commenced again. It is the same hour as last 
time, and the time before. ' ' 

Mademoiselle had stopped typing, and the 
ledger clerk at the desk behind her had also 
ceased work and sat listening; but after a mo- 
ment Mademoiselle threw a little smile towards 
them — a half-pleased, half-deprecating little 
smile, as of one who shows a visitor something 
interesting, something one is glad to show, and 
then resumed her clicking on the typewriter. 
The ledger clerk, too, went back to work, and 



198 ACTION FEONT 

the cashier said off-handedly : "It is not near — 
the station perhaps — yes!" as if the station 
were a few hundred miles off, instead of a few 
hundred yards. He finished rapidly counting 
his bundle of notes and handed them to the of- 
ficer. 

When the two emerged from the bank they 
found the street a good deal quieter than when 
they had entered it. They walked along to- 
wards the main square, noticing that some of 
the shopkeepers were calmly putting up their 
shutters, while others quietly continued serv- 
ing the few customers who were hurriedly com- 
pleting their purchases. As the two walked 
along the narrow street they heard the thin 
savage whistle of an approaching shell and a 
moment later a tremendous bang! They and 
everybody else near them stopped and looked 
round, up and down the street, and up over the 
roofs of the houses. They could see nothing, 
and had turned to walk on when something 
crashed sharply on a roof above them, bounced 
off, and fell with a rap on the cobble-stones in 
the street. A child, an eager-faced youngster, 
ran from an arched gateway and pounced on 
the little object, rose, and held up a piece of 
stone, with intense annoyance and disgust 
plainly written on his face, threw it from him 
with an exclamation of disappointment. 

The two walked on chuckling. "Little 



AN OPEN TOWN 199 

bounder !" said one. "Thought he'd got a 
souvenir; rather a sell for him— what?'' 

In the main square, they found a number of 
market women packing up their little stalls and 
moving off, others debating volubly and looking 
up at the sky, pointing in the direction of the 
last sound, and clearly arguing with each other 
as to whether they should stay or move. A 
couple of Army Transport wagons clattered 
across the square. One driver, with the reins 
bunched up in his hand and the whip under his 
arm, was busily engaged striking matches and 
trying to light a cigarette; the other, allowing 
his horses to follow the first wagon, and with 
his mouth open, gazed up into the sky as if he 
expected to see the next shell coming. A few 
civilians scattered about the square were walk- 
ing briskly; a woman, clutching the arm of a 
little boy, ran, dragging him, with his little legs 
going at a rapid trot. More civilians, a few 
men in khaki, and some in French uniform, were 
standing in archways or in shop-doors. 

There was another long whistle, louder and 
harsher this time, and followed by a splintering 
crash and rattle. The groups in the doorways 
flicked out of sight ; the people in the open half 
halted and turned to hurry on, or in some cases, 
without looking round, ran hurriedly to cover. 
Stones and little fragments of debris clacked 
down one by one, and then in a little pattering 



200 ACTION FEONT 

shower on the stones of the square. The last 
of the market women, hesitating no longer, hur- 
riedly bundled up their belongings and hastened 
off. The two officers turned into a cafe with a 
wide front window, seated themselves near this 
at a little marble table, and ordered beer. There 
were about a score of officers in the room, 
talking or reading the English papers. All of 
them had very clean and very close-shaven 
faces, and very dirty and weather-stained, mud- 
marked clothes. For the most part they seemed 
a great deal more interested in each other, in 
their conversations, and in their papers, than 
in any notice of the bombardment. The two 
who were seated near the window had a good 
view from it, and extracted plenty of interest 
from watching the people outside. 

Another shell whistled and roared down, 
burst with a deep angry bellow, a clattering and 
rending and splintering sound of breaking stone 
and wood. This time bigger fragments of 
stone, a shower of broken tiles and slates rattled 
down into the square; a thick cloud of dirty 
black smoke, gray and red tinged with mortar 
and brick-dust, appeared up above the roofs 
on the other side of the square, spread slowly 
and thickly, and hung long, dissolving very 
gradually and thinning off in trailing wisps. 

In the cafe there was silence for a moment, 
and many remarks about "coming rather close" 



AN OPEN TOWN 201 

and "getting a bit unhealthy," and a jesting in- 
quiry of the proprietor as to the shelter avail- 
able in the cellar with the beer barrels. A few 
rose and moved over to the window; one or two 
opened the door, to stand there and look round. 

"Look at that old girl in the doorway across 
there,' ' said one. "You would think she was 
frightened she was going to get her best bon- 
net wet." 

The woman's motions had, in fact, a curious 
resemblance to those of one who hesitated about 
venturing out in a heavy rainstorm. She stood 
in the doorway and looked round, drew back and 
spoke to someone inside, picked up a heavy bas- 
ket, set it down, stepped into the door, glanced 
carefully and calculatingly up at the sky and 
across the square in the direction she meant to 
take, moved back again and picked up her bas- 
ket, set it firmly on her arm, stepped out and 
commenced to hobble at an ungainly cumber- 
some trot across the square. She was no more 
than half-way across when the shriek of another 
shell was heard approaching. She stopped and 
cast a terrified glance about her, dumped the 
basket down on the cobbles, and resumed the 
shambling trot at increased speed. A soldier 
in khaki crossing the square also commenced to 
run for cover as his ear caught the sound of the 
shell; passing near the woman's basket, he 



202 ACTION FEONT 

stooped and grabbed it and doubled on with it 
after its panting owner. 

A group of soldiers standing in the archway 
shouted laughter and encouragement, pretend- 
ing they were watching a race, urging on the 
runners. 

"Go on, Khaki! go on! — two to one on the 
fat girl; two to one — I lay the fie-ald." Their 
cries and clapping shut off, and they disap- 
peared like diving ducks as the shell roared 
down, struck with a horrible crash one of the 
buildings in a side-street just off the square, 
burst it open, and flung upward and outward a 
flash of blinding light, a spurt of smoke, a tor- 
rent of flying bricks and broken stones. 
Through the rattle and clatter of falling ma- 
sonry and flying rubbish there came, piercing 
and shrill, the sound of a woman's screams. 
They choked off suddenly, and for some seconds 
there were no sounds but those of falling frag- 
ments, jarring and hailing on the cobble-stones, 
of broken glass crashing and tinkling from doz- 
ens of windows round the square. 

As the noises of the explosion died away, fig- 
ures crowded out anxiously into the doorways 
again, and stood there and about the pavements, 
looking round, pointing and gesticulating, and 
plainly prepared to run back under cover at the 
first sign of warning. The half-dozen men who 
had cheered the race across the square emerged 



AN OPEN TOWN 203 

from the archway, looked around, and then set 
off running, keeping close under the shelter of 
the houses, and disappearing into the thick 
smoke and dust that still hung a thick and writh- 
ing curtain about the street-end in the corner 
of the square. 

The two officers who had sat at the cafe win- 
dow looked at one another. 

"You heard that squeal ?" said one. 

"Yes," said the other; "I think we might 
trot over. You knowing a little bit about sur- 
gery might be useful." 

"Oh, I dunno," said the first. "But, any- 
how, let's go." 

They paid their bill and went out, and as they 
crossed the square they met a couple of the sol- 
diers who had disappeared into the smoke. 
They were moving at the double, but at a word 
from the officers they halted. Both wore the 
Red Cross badge of the Army Medical Corps 
on their arms, and one explained hurriedly that 
they were going for an ambulance, that there 
was a woman killed, one man and a woman and 
two children badly wounded. They ran on, and 
the two officers moved hastily towards the shell- 
struck house. The smoke was clearing now, and 
it was possible to see something of the damage 
that had been done. 

The shell apparently had struck the roof, had 
ripped and torn it off, burst downwards and 



204 ACTION FRONT 

outwards, blowing out the whole face of the 
upper story, the connecting-wall and corner of 
the houses next to it, part of the top-floor, and 
a jagged gap in the face of the lower story. 
The street was piled with broken bricks and 
tiles, with splinters of stone, with uprooted cob- 
bles, with fragments and beams, bits of fur- 
niture, ragged-edged planks, fragments of 
smoldering cloth. As the two walked, their 
feet crunched on a layer of splintered glass and 
broken crockery. The air they breathed reeked 
with a sharp chemical odor and the stench of 
burning rags. 

The R.A.M.C. men had collected the casual- 
ties, and were doing what they could for them, 
and the officer who was "a bit of a surgeon" 
gave them what help he could. The casualties 
were mangled cruelly, and one of them, a child, 
died before the ambulance came. 

The shells began to come fast now. One after 
another they poured in, the last noise of their 
approach before they struck sounding like the 
rush and roar of an express train passing 
through a tunnel. No more fell near the square ; 
but the two officers, returning across it, with 
the terrifying rush of its projectiles in their 
ears, moved hastily and puffed sighs of relief 
as they reached the door of the cafe again. 

"I just about want a drink," said the one who 
was "a bit of a surgeon." " Thank Heaven I 



AN OPEN TOWN 205 

didn't decide to go into the Medical. The more 
I see of that job the less I like it." 

The other shuddered. "How these surgeons 
do it at all," he said, "beats me. I had to go 
outside when you started to handle that kiddie. 
Sorry I couldn 't stay to help you. ' ' 

"It didn't matter," said the first. "Those 
Medical fellows did all I wanted, and anyhow 
you were better employed giving a hand to stop 
that building catching light." 

The two had their drink and prepared to 
move again. 

"Time we were off, I suppose," said the first. 
1 ' Our lot must be getting ready to take the road 
presently, and we ought to be there." 

So they moved and dodged through the quiet 
streets, with the shells still whooping overhead 
and bursting noisily in different parts of the 
town. On their way they entered a shop to buy 
some slabs of chocolate. The shop was empty 
when they entered, but a few stout raps on the 
counter brought a woman, pale-faced but vol- 
ubly chattering, up a ladder and through a trap- 
door in the shop-floor. She served them while 
the shells still moaned overhead, talking rap- 
idly, apologizing for keeping them waiting, and 
explaining that for the children's sake she al- 
ways went down into the cellar when the shell- 
ing commenced, wishing them, as they gathered 
up their parcels and left, "bonne chance," and 



206 ACTION FEONT 

making for the trap-door and the ladder as they 
closed the shop-door. 

About the main streets there were few signs 
of the shells' work, except here and there a lit- 
ter of fragments tossed over the roofs and 
sprayed across the road. But, passing through 
a small side square, the two officers saw some- 
thing more of the effect of ' ' direct hits. ' ' In the 
square was parked a number of ambulance wag- 
ons, and over a building at the side floated a 
huge Red Cross flag. Eight or nine shells had 
been dropped in and around the square. "Where 
they had fallen were huge round holes, each with 
a scattered fringe of earth and cobble-stones 
and broken pavement. The trees lining the 
square showed big white patches on their trunks 
where the bark had been sliced by flying frag- 
ments, branches broken, hanging and dangling, 
or holding out jagged white stumps. Leaves 
and twigs and branches were littered about the 
square and heaped thick under the trees. The 
brick walls of many of the houses round were 
pitted and pocked and scarred by the shell frag- 
ments. The face of one house was marked by a 
huge splash, with solid center and a ragged- 
edged outline of radiating jerky rays, remind- 
ing one immediately of a famous ink-maker's 
advertisement. The bricks had taken the im- 
pression of the explosion's splash exactly as pa- 
per would take the ink's. Practically every win- 



AN OPEN TOWN 207 

dow in the square had been broken, and in the 
case of the splash-marked house, blown in, sash 
and frame complete. One ambulance wagon 
lay a torn and splintered wreck, and pieces of it 
were flung wide to the four corners of the 
square. Another was overturned, with broken 
wheels collapsed under it, and in the Red Cross 
canvas tilts of others gaped huge tears and 
rents. 

At one spot a pool of blood spread wide 
across the pavement, and still dripping and run- 
ning sluggishly and thickly into and along the 
stone gutter, showed where at least one shell 
had caught more than brick and stone and tree, 
although now the square was deserted and 
empty of life. 

And even as the two hurriedly skirted the 
place another shell hurtled over, tripped on the 
top edge of a roof across the square and ex- 
ploded with an appalling clatter and burst of 
noise. The roof vanished in a whirlwind of 
smoke and dust, and the officers jumped from 
the doorway where they had flung themselves 
crouching, and finished their passage of the 
square at a run. 

"Hottish corner," said one, as they slowed 
to a walk some distance away. 

' ' Silly fools, ' ' growled the other. ' < What do 
they want to hoist that huge Red Cross flag 



208 ACTION FRONT 

up there for, where any airman can see it? 
Fairly asking for it, I call it. ' ' 

When they came to the outskirts of the town 
they found rather more signs of life. People 
were hanging about their doorways and the 
shops, fewer windows were shuttered, fewer 
faces peeped from the tiny grated windows of 
the cellars. And up the center of the road, with 
lordly calm, marched three Highlanders. The 
smooth swing of their kilts, their even, unhur- 
ried step, the shoulders well back, and the el- 
bows a shade outturned, the bonnets cocked to 
a precisely same angle on the upheld heads, all 
bespoke either an amazing ignorance of, or a 
bland indifference to, the bombardment. Their 
march was stopped by a sentry, who shouted to 
them and moved out from the pavement. Some 
sort of argument was going on as the officers 
approached, and in passing they heard the fin- 
ish of it. 

"You were pit there tae warn folk," a High- 
lander was saying. "Weel, yeVe dune that, so 
we'll awa on oor road. We're nae fonder o' 
shells than y'are yersel. But we'd look bonnie, 
wouldn't we, t' be tellin' the Cameron lads we 
promised to meet, that we were feared for a bit 
shellin'. ..." 

And after they had passed, the officers looked 
back and saw the three Scots swinging their 
kilts and swaggering imperturbably on to the 



AN OPEN TOWN 209 

town, and their meeting with the "Cameron 
lads." 

There were no more shells, but that afternoon 
a Taube paid another of its frequent visits and 
vigorously bombed the railway station again, 
driving the inhabitants back once more to the 
inadequate shelter of their cellars and base- 
ments. And yet, as the same two officers 
marched with their battalion through the town 
towards the firing-line that evening, they found 
the streets quite normally bustling and astir, 
and there seemed to be no lack of light in the 
shops and houses and about the streets. Here 
and there as they passed, children stood stiffly 
to attention and gravely saluted the battalion, 
young women and old turned to call a cheery 
"Bonne Chance' ' to the soldiers, to smile 
bravely and wave farewells to them. 

"Plucky bloomin' lot, ain't they, Bill!" said 
one man, and blew a kiss to three girls waving 
from a window. 

1 ' I takes off my 'at to them, ' ' said his mate. 
"What wi' Jack Johnsons and airyplane bombs, 
you might expec' the population to have emi- 
grated in a bunch. The Frenchmen is a plucky 
enough crowd, but the women — My Lord." 

"Airyplanes every other day," said the first 
man. "But I don't notice any darkened streets 
and white-painted kerbs; and we don't 'ear the 
inhabitants shrieking about protection from air 



210 ACTION FRONT 

raids, or 'Where's the anti-aircraft guns?' or 
' Who's responsible for air defense?' or 'A baa 
the Government that don't a baa the air raids !' 
'say la gerr,' says they, and shrugs their 
shoulders, and leaves it go at that." 

They were in a darker side-street now, and 
the glare of the burning house shone red in the 
sky over the roof tops. ''Somebody's 'appy 
'ome gone west," remarked one man, and a 
mouth-organ in the ranks answered, with cheer- 
ful sarcasm, "Keep the Home Fires Burning!" 



THE SIGNALERS 

"It is reported that . . . " — Extract from 
Official Despatch. 

The "it" and the "that" which were re- 
ported, and which the despatch related in an- 
other three or four lines, concerned the posi- 
tion of a forward line of battle, but have really 
nothing to do with this account, which aims 
only at relating something of the method by 
which "it was reported" and the men whose 
particular work was concerned only with the 
report as a report, a string of words, a jumble 
of letters, a huddle of Morse dots and dashes. 

The Signaling Company in the forward lines 
was situated in a very damp and very cold cel- 
lar of a half-destroyed house. In it were two or 
three tables commandeered from upstairs or 
from some houses around. That one was a 
rough deal kitchen table, and that another was 
of polished wood, with beautiful inlaid work 
and artistic curved and carven legs, the spoils 
of some drawing-room apparently, was a mat- 
ter without the faintest interest to the signal- 
ers who used them. To them a table was a 

211 



212 ACTION FRONT 

table, no more and no less, a thing to hold a lit- 
ter of papers, message forms, telephone gear, 
and a candle stuck in a bottle. If they had 
stopped to consider the matter, and had been 
asked, they would probably have given a dozen 
of the delicate inlaid tables for one of the rough 
strong kitchen ones. There were three or four 
chairs about the place, just as miscellaneous in 
their appearance as the tables. But beyond the 
tables and chairs there was no furniture what- 
ever, unless a scanty heap of wet straw in one 
corner counts as furniture, which indeed it 
might well do since it counted as a bed. 

There were fully a dozen men in the room, 
most of them orderlies for the carrying of mes- 
sages to and from the telephonists. These men 
came and went continually. Outside it had been 
raining hard for the greater part of the day, 
and now, getting on towards midnight, the driz- 
zle still held and the trenches and fields about 
the signalers' quarters were running wet, 
churned into a mass of gluey chalk-and-clay 
mud. The orderlies coming in with messages 
were daubed thick with the wet mud from boot- 
soles to shoulders, often with their puttees and 
knees and thighs dripping and running water as 
if they had just waded through a stream. Those 
who by the carrying of a message had just com- 
pleted a turn of duty, reported themselves, 
handed over a message perhaps, slouched wear- 



THE SIGNALERS 213 

ily over to the wall farthest from the door, 
dropped on the stone floor, bundled np a pack 
or a haversack, or anything else convenient for 
a pillow, lay down and spread a wet mackintosh 
over them, wriggled and composed their bodies 
into the most comfortable, or rather the least 
uncomfortable possible position, and in a few 
minutes were dead asleep. 

It was nothing to them that every now and 
again the house above them shook and quivered 
to the shock of a heavy shell exploding some- 
where on the ground round the house, that the 
rattle of rifle fire dwindled away at times to 
separate and scattered shots, brisked up again 
and rose to a long roll, the devil's tattoo of the 
machine guns rattling through it with exactly 
the sound a boy makes running a stick rapidly 
along a railing. The bursting shells and scourg- 
ing rifle fire, sweeping machine guns, banging 
grenades and bombs were all affairs with which 
the Signaling Company in the cellar had no 
connection. For the time being the men in a 
row along the wall were as unconcerned in the 
progress of the battle as if they were safely 
and comfortably asleep in London. Presently 
any or all of them might be waked and sent 
out into the flying death and dangers of the 
battlefield, but in the meantime their immediate 
and only interest was in getting what sleep they 
could. Every once in a while the signalers' 



214 ACTION FRONT 

sergeant would shout for a man, go across to 
the line and rouse one of the sleepers ; then the 
awakened man would sit up and blink, rise and 
listen to his instructions, nod and say, "Yes, 
Sergeant! All right, Sergeant !" when these 
were completed, pouch his message, hitch his 
damp mackintosh about him and button it close, 
drag heavily across the stone floor and vanish 
into the darkness of the stone-staired passage. 

His journey might be a long or a short one, he 
might only have to find a company commander 
in the trenches one or two hundred yards away, 
he might on the other hand have a several 
hours' long trudge ahead of him, a bewildering 
way to pick through the darkness across a maze 
of fields and a net-work of trenches, over and 
between the rubble heaps that represented the 
remains of a village, along roads pitted with all 
sorts of blind traps in the way of shell holes, 
strings of barbed wire, overturned carts, broken 
branches of trees, flung stones and beams ; and 
always, whether his journey was a short one or 
a long, he would move in an atmosphere of 
risk, with sudden death or searing pain passing 
him by at every step, and waiting for him, as 
he well knew, at the next step and the next 
and every other one to his journey's end. 

Each man who took his instructions and 
pocketed his message and walked up the cellar 
steps knew that he might never walk down them 



THE SIGNALERS 215 

again, that he might not take a dozen paces from 
them before the bullet found him. He knew that 
its finding might come in black dark and in the 
middle of an open field, that it might drop him 
there and leave him for the stretcher-bearers to 
find some time, or for the burying party to lift 
any time. Each man who carried out a message 
was aware that he might never deliver it, that 
when some other hand did so, and the message 
was being read, he might be past all messages, 
lying stark and cold in the mud and filth with 
the rain beating on his gray unheeding face; 
or, on the other hand, that he might be lying 
warm and comfortable in the soothing ease of a 
bed in the hospital train, swaying gently and 
lulled by the song of the flying wheels, the rock 
and roll of the long compartment, swinging at 
top speed down the line to the base and the 
hospital ship and home. An infinity of possi- 
bilities lay between the two extremes. They 
were undoubtedly the two extremes : the death 
that each man hoped to evade, the wound whose 
painful prospect held no slightest terror but 
only rather the deep satisfaction of a task per- 
formed, of an escape from death at the cheap 
price of a few days' or weeks' pain, or even 
a crippled limb or a broken body. 

A man forgot all these things when he came 
down the cellar steps and crept to a corner to 
snatch what sleep he could, but remembered 



216 ACTION FRONT 

them again only when he was wakened and sent 
out into their midst, and into all the toils and 
terrors the others had passed, or were to go 
into or even then were meeting. 

The signalers at the instruments, the ser- 
geants who gathered them in and sent them 
forth, gave little or no thought to the orderlies. 
These men were hardly more than shadows, 
things which brought them long screeds to be 
translated to the tapping keys, hands which 
would stretch into the candle-light and lift the 
messages that had just "buzzed" in over their 
wires. The sergeant thought of them mostly as 
a list of names to be ticked off one by one in a 
careful roster as each man did his turn of duty, 
went out, or came back and reported in. And 
the man who sent messages these men bore may 
never have given a thought to the hands that 
would carry them, unless perhaps to wonder 
vaguely whether the message could get through 
from so and so to such and such, from this 
map square to that, and if the chance of the 
messages getting through — the message you 
will note, not the messenger — seemed extra 
doubtful, orders might be given to send it in 
duplicate or triplicate, to double or treble the 
chances of its arriving. 

The night wore on, the orderlies slept and 
woke, stumbled in and out; the telephonists 
droned out in monotonous voices to the tele- 



THE SIGNALERS 217 

phone, or " buzzed' ' even more monotonous 
strings of longs and shorts on the "buzzer." 
And in the open about them, and all unheeded 
by them, men fought, and suffered wounds and 
died, or fought on in the scarce lesser suffering 
of cold and wet and hunger. 

In the signalers' room all the fluctuations of 
the fight were translated from the pulsing fever, 
the human living tragedies and heroisms, the 
violent hopes and fears and anxieties of the 
battle line, to curt cold words, to scribbled let- 
ters on a message form. At times these mes- 
sages were almost meaningless to them, or at 
least their red tragedy was unheeded. Their 
first thought when a message was handed in 
for transmission, usually their first question 
when the signaler at the other end called to 
take a message, was whether the message was a 
long one or a short one. One telephonist was 
handed an urgent message to send off, saying 
that bombs were running short in the forward 
line and that further supplies were required 
at the earliest possible moment, that the line 
was being severely bombed and unless they 
had the means to reply must be driven out or 
destroyed. The signaler took that message and 
sent it through; but his instrument was not 
working very clearly, and he was a good deal 
more concerned and his mind was much more 
fully taken up with the exasperating difficulty 



218 ACTION FEONT 

of making the signaler at the other end catch 
word or letter correctly, than it was with all 
the close packed volume of meaning it con- 
tained. It was not that he did not understand 
the meaning; he himself had known a line 
bombed out before now, the trenches rent and 
torn apart, the shattered limbs and broken bod- 
ies of the defenders, the horrible ripping crash 
of the bombs, the blinding flame, the numbing 
shock, the smoke and reek and noise of the ex- 
plosions; but though all these things were 
known to him, the words " bombed out" meant 
no more now than nine letters of the alphabet 
and the maddening stupidity of the man at the 
other end, who would misunderstand the sound 
and meaning of " bombed' ' and had to have it 
in time-consuming letter-by-letter spelling. 

When he had sent that message, he took off 
and wrote down one or two others from the 
signaling station he was in touch with. His 
own station, it will be remembered, was close 
up to the forward firing line, a new firing line 
which marked the limits of the advance made 
that morning. The station he was connected 
with was back in rear of what, previous to the 
attack, had been the British forward line. Be- 
tween the two the thin insignificant thread of 
the telephone wire ran twisting across the jum- 
ble of the trenches of our old firing line, the 
neutral ground that had lain between the 



THE SIGNALERS 219 

trenches, and the other maze of trench, dug-out, 
and bomb-proof shelter pits that had been cap- 
tured from the enemy. Then in the middle of 
sending a message, the wire went dead, gave no 
answer to repeated calls on the "buzzer." The 
sergeant, called to consultation, helped to over- 
look and examine the instrument. Nothing 
could be found wrong with it, but to make quite 
sure the fault was not there, a spare instrument 
was coupled on to a short length of wire be- 
tween it and the old one. They carried the 
message perfectly, so with curses of angry dis- 
gust the wire was pronounced disconnected, or 
"disc," as the signaler called it. 

This meant that a man or men had to be sent 
out along the line to find and repair the break, 
and that until this was done, no telephone mes- 
sage could pass between that portion of the 
forward line and the headquarters in the rear. 
The situation was the more serious, inasmuch 
as this was the only connecting line for a con- 
siderable distance along the new front. A cor- 
poral and two men took a spare instrument and 
a coil of wire, and set out on their dangerous 
journey. 

The break of course had been reported to the 
O.C., and after that there was nothing more for 
the signaler at the dead instrument to do, ex- 
cept to listen for the buzz that would come back 
from the repair party as they progressed along 



220 ACTION FEONT 

the line, tapping in occasionally to make sure 
that they still had connection with the forward 
station, their getting no reply at the same time 
from the rear station being of course sufficient 
proof that they had not passed the break. 

Twice the signaler got a message, the second 
one being from the forward side of the old neu- 
tral ground in what had been the German front 
line trench; the report said also that fairly 
heavy fire was being maintained on the open 
ground. After that there was silence. 

When the signaler had time to look about 
him, to light a cigarette and to listen to the 
uproar of battle that filtered down the cellar 
steps and through the closed door, he spoke to 
the sergeant about the noise, and the sergeant 
agreed with him that it was getting louder, 
which meant either that the fight was getting 
hotter or coming closer. The answer to their 
doubts came swiftly to their hands in the shape 
of a note from the O.C., with a message borne 
by the orderly that it was to be sent through 
anyhow or somehow, but at once. 

Now the O.C., be it noted, had already had a 
report that the telephone wire was cut; but he 
still scribbled his note, sent his message, and 
thereafter put the matter out of his mind. He 
did not know how or in what fashion the mes- 
sage would be sent ; but he did know the Signal- 
ing Company, and that was sufficient for him. 



THE SIGNALERS 221 

In this he was doing nothing out of the usual. 
There are many commanders who do the same 
thing, and this, if you read it aright, is a com- 
pliment to the signaling companies beyond all 
the praise of General Orders or the sweet flat- 
tery of the G.O.C. despatch — the men who sent 
the messages put them out of their mind as soon 
as they were written and handed to an orderly 
with a curt order, ' ' Signaling company to send 
thai" 

You at home who slip a letter into the pillar 
box, consider it, allowing due time for its jour- 
ney, as good as delivered at the other end ; by so 
doing you pay an unconscious compliment to 
all manners and grades of men, from high sal- 
aried managers down to humble porters and 
postmen. But the somewhat similar compli- 
ment that is paid by the men who send messages 
across the battlefield is paid in the bulk to one 
little select circle; to the animal brawn and 
blood, the spiritual courage and devotion, the 
bodies and brains, the pluck and perseverance, 
the endurance, the grit and the determination of 
the signaling companies. 

When the sergeant took his message and 
glanced through it, he pursed his lips in a low 
whistle and asked the signaler to copy while 
he went and roused three messengers. His 
quick glance through the note had told him, 
even without the O.C.'s message, that it was to 



222 ACTION FEONT 

the last degree urgent that the message should 
go back and be delivered at once and without 
fail ; therefore he sent three messengers, simply 
because three men trebled the chances of the 
message getting through without delay. If one 
man dropped, there were two to go on; if two 
fell, the third would still carry on ; if he fell — 
well, after that the matter was beyond the ser- 
geant's handling; he must leave it to the mes- 
senger to find another man or means to carry 
on the message. 

The telephonist had scribbled a copy of the 
not> to keep by him in case the wire was mended 
and the message could be sent through after the 
messengers started and before they reached the 
other end. The three received their instruc- 
tions, drew their wet coats about their shiver- 
ing shoulders, relieved their feelings in a few 
growled sentences about the dog's life a man 
led in that company, and departed into the wet 
night. 

The sergeant came back, re-read the message 
and discussed it with the signaler. It said: 
" Heavy attack is developing and being pressed 
strongly on our center a-a-a. 1 Our losses have 
been heavy and line is considerably weakened 
a-a-a. Will hold on here to the last but urgently 
request that strong reinforcements be sent up 
if the line is to be maintained a-a-a. Addi- 

1 Three a's indicate a full stop. 



THE SIGNALERS 223 

tional artillery support would be useful a-a-a." 
"Sounds healthy, don't it?" said the ser- 
geant reflectively. The signaler nodded gloom- 
ily and listened apprehensively to the growing 
sounds of battle. Now that his mind was free 
from first thoughts of telephonic worries, he 
had time to consider outside matters. For 
nearly ten minutes the two men listened, and 
talked in short sentences, and listened again. 
The rattle of rifle fire was sustained and un- 
broken, and punctuated liberally at short in- 
tervals by the boom of exploding grenades and 
bombs. Decidedly the whole action was heavier 
— or coming back closer to them. 

The sergeant was moving across the door to 
open it and listen when a shell struck the house 
above them. The building shook violently, 
down to the very flags of the stone floor ; from 
overhead, after the first crash, there came a 
rumble of falling masonry, the splintering 
cracks of breaking wood-work, the clatter and 
rattle of cascading bricks and tiles. A shower 
of plaster grit fell from the cellar roof and set- 
tled thick upon the papers littered over the 
table. The sergeant halted abruptly with his 
hand on the cellar door, three or four of the 
sleepers stirred restlessly, one woke for a min- 
ute sufficiently to grumble curses and ask "what 
the blank was that"; the rest slept on serene 
and undisturbed. The sergeant stood there 



224 ACTION FEONT 

until the last sounds of falling rubbish had 
ceased. "A shell," he said, and drew a deep 
breath. " Plunk into upstairs somewhere/' 

The signaler made no answer. He was quite 
busy at the moment rearranging his disturbed 
papers and blowing the dust and grit off them. 

A telephonist at another table commenced 
to take and write down a message. It came 
from the forward trench on the left, and 
merely said briefly that the attack on the cen- 
ter was spreading to them and that they were 
holding it with some difficulty. The message 
was sent up to the O.C. "Whoever the O.C. 
may be," as the sergeant said softly. "If the 
Colonel was upstairs when that shell hit, there's 
another O.C. now, most like." But the Col- 
onel had escaped that shell and sent a message 
back to the left trench to hang on, and that 
he had asked for reinforcements. 

"He did ask," said the sergeant grimly, "but 
when he's going to get 'em is a different pair 
o' shoes. It'll take those messengers most of 
an hour to get there, even if they dodge all the 
lead on the way. ' ' 

As the minutes passed, it became more and 
more plain that the need for reinforcements 
was growing more and more urgent. The ser- 
geant was standing now at the open door of 
the cellar, and the noise of the conflict swept 
down and clamored and beat about them. 



THE SIGNALERS 225 

" Think I'll just slip up and have a look 
round,' ' said the sergeant. "I shan't be long." 

When he had gone, the signaler rose and 
closed the door ; it was cold enough, as he very 
sensibly argued, and his being able to hear the 
fighting better would do nothing to affect its 
issue. Just after came another call on his in- 
strument, and the repair party told him they 
had crossed the neutral ground, had one man 
wounded in the arm, that he was going on with 
them, and they were still following up the wire. 
The message ceased, and the telephonist, lean- 
ing his elbows on the table and his chin on his 
hands, was almost asleep before he realized it. 
He wakened with a jerk, lit another cigarette, 
and stamped up and down the room trying to 
warm his numbed feet. 

First one orderly and then another brought 
in messages to be sent to the other trenches, 
and the signaler held them a minute and gath- 
ered some more particulars as to how the fight 
was progressing up there. The particulars 
were not encouraging. We must have lost a 
lot of men, since the whole place was clotted up 
with casualties that kept coming in quicker than 
the stretcher-bearers could move them. The 
rifle-fire was hot, the bombing was still hotter, 
and the shelling was perhaps the hottest and 
most horrible of all. Of the last the signaler 
hardly required an account; the growling 



226 ACTION FEONT 

thumps of heavy shells exploding, kept sending 
little shivers down the cellar walls, the shiver 
being, oddly enough, more emphatic when the 
wail of the falling shell ended in a muffled 
thump that proclaimed the missile " blind" or 
1 ' a dud. ' ' Another hurried messenger plunged 
down the steps with a note written by the ad- 
jutant to say the colonel was severely wounded 
and had sent for the second in command to take 
over. Ten more dragging minutes passed, and 
now the separate little shivers and thrills that 
shook the cellar walls had merged and run to- 
gether. The rolling crash of the falling shells 
and the bursting of bombs came close and fast 
one upon another, and at intervals the terrific 
detonation of an aerial torpedo dwarfed for the 
moment all the other sounds. 

By now the noise was so great that even the 
sleepers began to stir, and one or two of them 
to wake. One sat up and asked the telephonist, 
sitting idle over his instrument, what was hap- 
pening. He was told briefly, and told also that 
the line was "disc." He expressed consider- 
able annoyance at this, grumbling that he knew 
what it meant — more trips in the mud and under 
fire to take the messages the wire should have 
carried. 

"Do you think there's any chance of them 
pushing in the line and rushing this house?" 
he asked. The telephonist didn't know. 



THE SIGNALERS 227 

"Well," said the man and lay down again. 
"It's none o ' my dashed business if they do any- 
way. I only hope we're tipped the wink in 
time to shunt out o' here; IVe no particular 
fancy for sitting in a cellar with the Boche cock- 
shying their bombs down the steps at me." 
Then he shut his eyes and went to sleep again. 

The morsed key signal for his own company 
buzzed rapidly on the signaler's telephone and 
he caught the voice of the corporal who had 
taken out the repair party. They had found 
the break, the corporal said, and were mending 
it. He should be through — he was through — 
could he hear the other end! The signaler 
could hear the other end calling him and he 
promptly tapped off the answering signal and 
spoke into his instrument. He could hear the 
morse signals on the buzzer plain enough, but 
the voice was faint and indistinct. The sig- 
naler caught the corporal before he withdrew 
his tap-in and implored him to search along and 
find the leakage. 

"It's bad enough," he said, "to get all these 
messages through by voice. I haven't a dog's 
chance of doing it if I have to buzz each one." 

The rear station spoke again and informed 
him that he had several urgent messages wait- 
ing. The forward signaler replied that he also 
had several messages, and one in particular was 
urgent above all others. 



228 ACTION FEONT 

"The blanky line is being pushed in," he 
said. "No, it isn't pushed in yet — I didn't say 
it — I said being pushed in — being — being, looks 
like it will be pushed in — got that! The O.C. 
has 'stopped one' and the second has taken com- 
mand. This message I want you to take is 
shrieking for reinforcements — what? I can't 
hear — no I didn't say anything about horses — 
I did not. Eeenforcements I said; anyhow, take 
this message and get it through quick." 

He was interrupted by another terrific crash, 
a fresh and louder outburst of the din outside ; 
running footsteps clattered and leaped down the 
stairs, the door flung open and the sergeant 
rushed in slamming the door violently behind 
him. He ran straight across to the recumbent 
figures and began violently to shake and kick 
them into wakefulness. 

' ' Up with ye ! " he said, ' ' every man. If you 
don't wake quick now, you'll maybe not have 
the chance to wake at all. ' ' 

The men rolled over and sat and stood up 
blinking stupidly at him and listening in amaze- 
ment to the noise outside. 

"Bouse yourselves," he cried. "Get a move 
on. The Germans are almost on top of us. The 
front line's falling back. They'll stand here." 
He seized one or two of them and pushed them 
towards the door. "You," he said, "and you 
and you, get outside and round the back there. 



THE SIGNALERS 229 

See if you can get a pickaxe, a trenching tool, 
anything, and break down that grating and 
knock a bigger hole in the window. We may 
have to crawl out there presently. The rest 
o' ye come with me an' help block up the door." 

Through the din that followed, the telephonist 
fought to get his message through; he had to 
give up an attempt to speak it while a hatchet, 
a crowbar, and a pickaxe were noisily at work 
breaking out a fresh exit from the back of the 
cellar, and even after that work had been com- 
pleted, it was difficult to make himself heard. 
He completed the urgent message for reinforce- 
ments at last, listened to some confused and 
confusing comments upon it, and then made 
ready to take some messages from the other 
end. 

"You'll have to shout," he said, "no, shout — 
speak loud, because I can't 'ardly 'ear myself 
think — no, 'ear myself think. Oh, all sorts, 
but the shelling is the worst, and one o' them 
beastly airyale torpedoes. All right, go ahead. ' ' 

The earpiece receiver strapped tightly over 
one ear, left his right hand free to use a pen- 
cil, and as he took the spoken message word by 
word, he wrote it on the pad of message forms 
under his hand. Under the circumstances it 
is hardly surprising that the message took a 
good deal longer than a normal time to send 
through, and while he was taking it, the sig- 



230 ACTION FEONT 

naler's mind was altogether too occupied to 
pay any attention to the progress of events 
above and around him. But now the sergeant 
came back and warned him that he had better 
get his things ready and put together as far as 
he could, in case they had to make a quick and 
sudden move. 

"The game's up, I'm afraid,' ' he said gloom- 
ily, and took a note that was brought down by 
another orderly. "I thought so," he com- 
mented, as he read it hastily and passed it to 
the other signaler. "It's a message warning 
the right and left flanks that we can't hold the 
center any longer, and that they are to com- 
mence falling back to conform to our retire- 
ment at 3.20 ac emma, which is ten minutes 
from now." 

Over their heads the signalers could hear 
tramping scurrying feet, the hammering out of 
loopholes, the dragging thump and flinging 
down of obstacles piled up as an additional de- 
fense to the rickety walls. Then there were 
more hurrying footsteps, and presently the jar- 
ring rap-rap-rap of a machine gun immediately 
over their heads. 

' ' That 's done it ! " said the sergeant. ' ' We 've 
got no orders to move, but I'm going to chance 
it and establish an alternative signaling sta- 
tion in one of the trenches somewhere behind 
here. This cellar roof is too thin to stop an 



THE SIGNALERS 231 

ordinary Fizzbang, much less a good solid 
Crump, and that machine gun upstairs is a cer- 
tain invitation to sudden death and the Ger- 
man gunners to down and out us." 

He moved towards the new opening that had 
been made in the wall of the cellar, scrambled 
up it and disappeared. All the signalers lifted 
their attention from their instruments at the 
same moment and sat listening to the fresh note 
that ran through the renewed and louder clamor 
and racket. The signaler who was in touch 
with the rear station called them and began to 
tell them what was happening. 

"We're about all in, I b'lieve," he said. 
"Five minutes ago we passed word to the flanks 
to fall back in ten minutes. What? Yes, it's 
thick. I don't know how many men we've lost 
hanging on, and I suppose we'll lose as many 
again taking back the trench we're to give up. 
What's that? No. I don't see how reinforce- 
ments could be here yet. How long ago you say 
you passed orders for them to move up? An 
hour ago! That's wrong, because the messen- 
gers can't have been back — telephone message? 
That's a lot less than an hour ago. I sent it 
myself no more than half an hour since. Oo-oo ! 
did you get that bump? Dunno, couple o' big 
shells or something dropped just outside. I 
can 'ardly 'ear you. There's a most almighty 
row going on all round. They must be charg- 



232 ACTION FKGNT 

ing, I think, or our front line's fallen back, 
because the rifles is going nineteen to the dozen, 
a-a-ah! They're getting stronger too, and it 
sounds like a lot more bombs going; hold on, 
there's that blighting maxim again." 

He stopped speaking while upstairs the 
maxim clattered off belt after belt of cartridges. 
The other signalers were shuffling their feet 
anxiously and looking about them. 

"Are we going to stick it here?" said one. 
"Didn't the sergeant say something about 
'oppingit?" 

"If he did," said the other, "he hasn't given 
any orders that I've heard. I suppose he'll 
come back and do that, and we've just got to 
carry on till then." 

The men had to shout now to make them- 
selves heard to each other above the constant 
clatter of the maxim and the roar of rifle fire. 
By now they could hear, too, shouts and cries 
and the trampling rush of many footsteps. The 
signaler spoke into his instrument again. 

"I think the line's fallen back," he said. "I 
can hear a heap o ' men running about there out- 
side, and now I suppose us here is about due to 
get it in the neck. ' ' 

There was a scuffle, a rush, and a plunge, and 
the sergeant shot down through the rear open- 
ing and out into the cellar. 

' ' The flank trenches ! " he shouted. ' ' Quick ! 



THE SIGNALERS 233 

Get on to them — right and left flank — tell them 
they're to stand fast. Quick, now, give them 
that first. Stand fast ; do not retire. ' ' 

The signalers leaped to their instruments, 
buzzed off the call, and getting through, rattled 
their messages off. 

"Ask them," said the sergeant anxiously. 
i ' Had they commenced to retire. ' ' He breathed 
a sigh of relief when the answers came. "No," 
that the message had just stopped them in time. 

"Then," he said, "you can go ahead now and 
tell them the order to retire is cancelled, that 
the reinforcements have arrived, that they're 
up in our forward line, and we can hold it good 
—oh!" 

He paused and wiped his wet forehead; 
"you," he said, turning to the other signaler, 
i ' tell them behind there the same thing. ' ' 

"How in thunder did they manage it, ser- 
geant?" said the perplexed signaler. "They 
haven't had time since they got my message 
through. ' ' 

"No," said the sergeant, "but they've just 
had time since they got mine." 

"Got yours?" said the bewildered signaler. 

"Yes, didn't I tell you?" said the sergeant. 
"When I went out for a look round that time, I 
found an artillery signaler laying out a new 
line, and I got him to let me tap in and send a 
message through his battery to headquarters." 



234 ACTION FRONT 

"You might have told me," said the ag- 
grieved signaler. "It would have saved me a 
heap of sweat getting that message through." 
After he had finished his message to the rear 
station he spoke reflectively: "Lucky thing you 
did get through," he said. " 'Twas a pretty 
close shave. The O.C. should have a ' thank you* 
for you over it. ' ' 

"I don't suppose," answered the sergeant, 
"the O.C. will ever know or ever trouble about 
it ; he sent a message to the signaling company 
to send through — and it was sent through. 
There's the beginning and the end of it." 

And as he said, so it was ; or rather the end 
of it was in those three words that appeared 
later in the despatch : " It is reported. ' ' 



CONSCRIPT COURAGE 

You must know plenty of people — if you 
yourself are not one of them — who hold out 
stoutly against any military compulsion or con- 
scription in the belief that the "fetched" man 
can never be the equal in valor and fighting in- 
stinct of the volunteer, can only be a source of 
weakness in any platoon, company and regi- 
ment. This tale may throw a new light on that 
argument. 

Gerald Bunthrop was not a conscript in the 
strict sense of the word, because when he en- 
listed no legal form of conscription existed in 
the United Kingdom ; but he was, as many more 
have been, a moral conscript, a man utterly 
averse to any form of soldiering, much less 
fighting, very reluctantly driven into the Army 
by force of circumstance and pressure from 
without himself. Before the War the Army and 
its ways were to him a sealed book. Of war he 
had the haziest ideas compounded of novels he 
had read and dimly remembered and mental 
pictures in a confused jumble of Charles 'Mal- 
ley dragoons on spirited charges, half-forgot- 
ten illustrations in the papers of pith-helmeted 

235 



236 ACTION FEONT 

infantry in the Boer War, faint boyhood recol- 
lections of Magersfontein and the glumness of 
the " Black Week" — a much more realistic and 
vivid impression of Waterloo as described by 
Brigadier Gerard — and odd figures of black 
Soudanese, of Light Brigade troopers, of Pen- 
insula red-coats, of Sepoys and bonneted High- 
landers in the Mutiny period, and of Life Guard 
sentries at Whitehall, lines of fixed bayonets 
on City procession routes, and khaki-clad Ter- 
riers seen about railway stations and on bus- 
tops with incongruous rifles on Saturday after- 
noons. Actually, it is not correct to include 
these living figures in his vague idea of war. 
They had to him no connection with anything 
outside normal peaceful life, stirred his 
thoughts to war no more than seeing a gas- 
bracket would wake him to imaginings of a coal- 
mine or a pit explosion. His slight conceptions 
of war, then, were a mere matter of print and 
books and pictures, and the first months of this 
present war were exactly the same, no more and 
no less — newspaper paragraphs and photos and 
drawings in the weeklies hanging on the book- 
stalls. He read about the Retreat and the Ad- 
vance, skimmed the prophets' forecasts, gulped 
the communiques with interest a good deal 
fainter than he read the accounts of the foot- 
ball matches or a boxing bout. He expected 
"our side" to win of course, and was quite 



CONSCRIPT COURAGE 237 

patriotic; was in fact a " supporter' ' of the 
British Army in exactly the sense of being a 
" supporter' ' or " follower' ' of Tottenham Hot- 
spurs or Kent County. Any thoughts that he 
might shoulder a rifle and fight Germans would 
at that time, if it had entered his head, have 
seemed just as ridiculous as a thought that he 
should play in the Final at the Crystal Palace 
or step into the ring to fight Carpentier. It 
took a long time to move him from this atti- 
tude of aloofness. Recruiting posters failed 
utterly to touch him. He looked at them, criti- 
cized them, even discussed their " goodness" or 
drawing power on recruits with complete de- 
tachment and without the vaguest idea that they 
were addressed to him. He bought Allies' flag- 
buttons, and subscribed with his fellow-employ- 
ees to a Red Cross Fund, and joined them again 
in sending some sixpences to a newspaper 
Smokes Gift Fund; he always most scrupu- 
lously stood up and uncovered to "God Save 
the King," and clapped and encored vocifer- 
ously any patriotic songs or sentiments from 
the stage. He thought he was doing his full 
duty as a loyal Briton, and even — this was when 
he promised a regular sixpence a week to the 
Smokes Fund — going perhaps a little beyond 
it. First hints and suggestions that he should 
enlist he treated as an excellent jest, and when 
at last they became too frequent and pointed 



238 ACTION FRONT 

for that, and began to come from complete 
strangers, he became justly indignant at such 
" impudence' ' and " interference, ' ' and began 
long explainings to people he knew, that he 
wasn't the one to be bullied into anything, that 
fighting wasn't "his line," that he "had no 
liking for soldiering, ' ' that he would have gone 
like a shot, but had his own good and adequate 
reasons for not doing so. 

There is no need to tell of the stages by which 
he arrived at the conclusion that he must en- 
list: from the first dawning wonder at such a 
possibility, through qualms of doubt and fear 
and spasms of hope and — almost — courage, to 
a dull apathy of resignation. No need to tell 
either the particular circumstances that "con- 
scripted" him at last, because although his 
name is not real the man himself is, and one 
has no wish to bring shame on him or his peo- 
ple. I have only described him so closely to 
make it very clear that he was driven to enlist- 
ment, that a less promising recruit never joined 
up, that he was a conscript in every real sense 
of the word. We can pass over all his training, 
his introduction to the life of the trenches, his 
feelings of terror under conditions as little dan- 
gerous as the trenches could be. He managed, 
more or less, to hide this terror, as many a 
worse and many a better man has done before 
him, until one day 



CONSCRIPT COURAGE 239 

The Germans had made a fierce attack, had 
overborne a section of the defense and taken a 
good deal of trenched ground, had been coun- 
ter-attacked and partly driven back, had 
scourged the lost parts with a fresh tempest of 
artillery fire and driven in again to close quar- 
ters, to hot bomb and bayonet work ; were again 
checked and for the moment held. 

Private Gerald Bunthrop 's battalion had been 
hurried up to support the broken and break- 
ing line, was thrust into a badly wrecked trench 
with crumbling sides and broken traverses, with 
many dead and wounded cumbering the feet of 
the few defenders, with a reek of high-explosive 
fumes catching their throats and nostrils. The 
open ground beyond the trench was scattered 
thick with great heaps of German dead, a few 
more sprawled on the broken parapet, another 
and lesser few were huddled in the trench it- 
self amongst the many khaki forms. The bat- 
talion holding the trench had been almost an- 
nihilated in the task, had in fact at first been 
driven out from part of the line and had only 
reoccupied it with heavy losses. Bunthrop had 
with his battalion passed along some smashed 
communication trenches and over the open 
ground this fighting had covered, and the sights 
they saw in passing might easily have shaken 
the stoutest hearts and nerves. They made the 
approach, too, under a destructive fire with 



240 ACTION FEONT 

high-explosive shells screaming and crashing 
over, around, and amongst them, with bullets 
whistling and hissing about them and striking 
the ground with the sound of constantly ex- 
ploding Chinese crackers. 

Bunthrop himself, to state the fact baldly, 
was in an agony of fear. He might have been 
tempted to bolt, but was restrained by a com- 
plete lack of any idea where to bolt to, by a lin- 
gering remnant of self-respect, and by a firm 
conviction that he would be dealt with merci- 
lessly if he openly ran. But when he reached 
the comparative shelter of the broken trench 
all these safeguards of his decent behavior van- 
ished. He flung himself into the trench, cow- 
ered in its deepest part, made not the slightest 
attempt to look over the parapet, much less to 
use his rifle. There is this much of excuse for 
him, that on the very instant that they reached 
the cover of the trench a bursting high-ex- 
plosive had caught the four men next in line to 
him. The excuse may be insufficient for those 
who have never witnessed at very close hand 
the instant and terrible destruction of four 
companions with whom they have eaten and 
slept and talked and moved and had their inti- 
mate being for many months; but those who 
have known such happenings will understand. 
Bunthrop 's sergeant understood, and because 
he was a good sergeant and had the instinct for 



CONSCRIPT COURAGE 241 

the right handling of men — it mnst have been 
an instinct, because, up to a year before, he 
had been ledger clerk in a City office and had 
handled nothing more alive than columns of 
figures in a book — he issued exactly the order 
that appealed exactly to Bunthrop's terror and 
roused him from a shivering embodiment of 
fear to a live thinking and order-obeying pri- 
vate. "Get up and sling some of those sand- 
bags back on the parapet, Bunthrop ! ' ' he said, 
"and see if you can't make some decent cover 
for yourself. You've nothing there that would 
stop a half-crippled Hun jumping in on top 
of you. ' ' When he came back along the trench 
five minutes later he found Bunthrop feverishly 
busy re-piling sandbags and strengthening the 
parapet, ducking hastily and crouching low 
when a shell roared past overhead, but hur- 
riedly resuming work the instant it had passed. 
Then came the fresh German attack, preceded 
by five minutes' intense artillery fire, concen- 
trated on the half-wrecked trench. The inferno 
of noise, the rush and roar of the approaching 
shells, the crash and earth-shaking thunder of 
their explosions, the ear-splitting cracks over- 
head of high-explosive shrapnel, the drone and 
whirr and thump of their flying fragments — 
the whole racking, roaring, deafening, sense-de- 
stroying tempest of noise was too much for 
Bunthrop's nerve. He flung down and flat- 



242 ACTION FEONT 

tened himself to the trench bottom again, 
squeezing himself close to the earth, submerged 
and drowned in a sweeping wave of panic fear. 
He gave no heed to the orders of his platoon 
commander, the shouting of his sergeant, the 
stir that ran along the trench, the flat spitting 
reports of the rifles that began to crack rapidly 
in a swiftly increasing volume of fire. A huge 
fragment of shell came down and struck the 
trench bottom with a suggestively violent thud 
a foot from his head. Half sick with the in- 
stant thought, "If it had been a foot this 
way! . . . " half crazed with the sense of open- 
ness to such a missile, Bunthrop rose to his 
knees, pressing close to the forward parapet, 
and looking wildly about him. His sergeant 
saw him. "You, Bunthrop,' ' he shouted, "are 
you hit? Get up, you fool, and shoot! If we 
can't stop 'em before they reach here we're 
done in. ' ' Bunthrop hardly heeded him. Along 
the trench the men were shooting at top speed 
over the parapet; a dozen paces away two of 
the battalion machine-guns were clattering and 
racketing in rapid gusts of fire; a little far- 
ther along a third one had jambed and was 
being jerked and hammered at by a couple of 
sweating men and a wildly cursing boy officer. 
So much Bunthrop saw, and then with a hid- 
eous screeching roar a high explosive fell and 
burst in a shattering crash, a spouting hurri- 



CONSCRIPT COURAGE 243 

cane of noise and smoke and flung earth and 
fragments. Bunthrop found himself half bur- 
ied in a landslide of crumbling trench, struggled 
desperately clear, gasping and choking in the 
black cloud of smoke and fumes, saw presently, 
as the smoke thinned and dissolved, a chaos of 
broken earth and sandbags where the machine- 
guns had stood; saw one man and an officer 
dragging their gun from the debris, setting it 
up again on the broken edge of the trench. 
Another man staggered up the crumbling earth 
bank to help, and presently amongst them they 
got the gun into action again. The officer left 
it and ran to where he saw the other gun half 
buried in loose earth. He dragged it clear, 
found it undamaged, looked round, shouted at 
Bunthrop crouching flat against the trench wall ; 
shouted again, came down the earth bank to 
him with a rush. ' ' Come and help ! " he yelled, 
grabbing at Bunthrop 's arm. Bunthrop mum- 
bled stupidly in reply. "What?" shouted the 
officer. ' ' Come and help, will you 1 Never mind 
if you are hurt, ' ' as he noticed a smear of blood 
on the private's face. "You 11 be hurt worse 
if they get into this trench with the bayonet. 
Come on and help!" Bunthrop, .hardly under- 
standing, obeyed the stronger will and followed 
him back to the gun. "Can you load?" de- 
manded the officer. ' ' Can you fill the cartridges 
into these drums while I shoot?" Bunthrop 



244 ACTION FRONT 

had had in a remote period of his training some 
machine-gun instruction. He nodded and mum- 
bled again. ' ' God !' ' said the officer. " Look at 
'em! There's enough to eat us if they get to 
bayonet distance ! "We must stop 'em with the 
bullet. Hurry up, man; hurry, if you don't 
want to be skewered like a stuck pig ! " He rat- 
tled off burst after burst of fire, clamoring at 
Bunthrop to hurry, hurry, hurry. A wounded 
machine-gunner joined them, and then some oth- 
ers, and the gun began to spit a steady string 
of bullets again. By this time the full meaning 
of the officer's words — the meaning, too, of re- 
marks between the wounded helpers — had 
soaked into Bunthrop 's brain. Their only hope, 
his only hope of life, lay in stopping the attack 
before it reached the trench; and the machine- 
guns were a main factor in the stopping. He 
lost interest in everything except cramming the 
cartridges into their place. "When the officer 
was hit and rolled backwards and lay groaning 
and swearing, Bunthrop 's chief and agonizing 
thought was that they — he — had lost the assist- 
ance and protection of the gun. When one of 
the wounded gunners took the officer's place 
and reopened fire, Bunthrop 's only concern 
again was to keep pace with the loading. The 
thoughts were repeated exactly when that gun- 
ner was hit and collapsed and his place was 
taken by another man. And by now the urgent 






CONSCRIPT COURAGE 245 

need of keeping the gun going was so impressed 
on Bunthrop that when the next gunner was 
struck down and the gun stood idle and de- 
serted it was Bunthrop who turned wildly urg- 
ing the other loaders to get up and keep the gun 
going; babbled excitedly about the only hope 
being to stop the Germans before they "got in" 
with the bayonet, repeated again and again at 
them the officer's phrase about "skewered like 
stuck pigs." The others hung back. They had 
seen man after man struck down at the gun, 
they could hear the hiss and whitt of the bullets 
over their heads, the constant cracker-like 
smacks of others that hit the parapet, and — 
they hung back. "Why th' 'ell don't you do it 
yerself!" demanded one of them, angered by 
Bunthrop 's goading and in some degree, no 
doubt, by the disagreeable knowledge that they 
were flinching from a duty. 

And then Bunthrop, the "conscript," the man 
who had held back from war to the last possible 
minute, who hated soldiering and shrank from 
violence and all fighting, who was known to his 
fellows as "a funk," the source of much uneasi- 
ness to company and platoon commanders and 
sergeants as "a weak spot," Bunthrop did what 
these others, these average good men who had 
"joined up" freely, who had longed for the 
end of home training and the transfer "out 
Front," dared not do. Bunthrop scrambled up 



246 ACTION FEONT 

the broken bank, seized the gun, swung the 
sights full to the broad gray target, and opened 
fire. He kept it going steadily, too, with a sleet 
of bullets whistling and whipping past him, kept 
on after a bullet snatched the cap from his head, 
and others in quick succession cut away a 
shoulder strap, scored a red weal across his 
neck, stabbed through the point of his shoulder. 
And when a shell-fragment smashed the gun 
under his hands, he left it only to plunge 'hastily 
to the other gun abandoned by all but dead and 
dying; pulled off a dead man who sprawled 
across it and recommenced shooting. He 
stopped firing only when his last cartridge was 
gone; squatted a moment longer staring over 
the sights, and then raised his head and peered 
out into the trailing film of smoke clouds from 
the bursting shells. Although it took him a 
minute to be sure of it he saw plainly at last 
that the attack was broken. Dimly he could see 
the heaped clusters of dead that lay out in the 
open, the crawling and limping figures of the 
wounded who sought safety back in the cover 
of their own trench, and more than that he could 
see men running with their heads stooped and 
their gray coats flapping about their ankles. It 
was this last that roused him again to action. 
He scrambled hurriedly back down the broken 
parapet into the trench. "Come on, you f el- 
lows,' ' he shouted to two or three nearby men 



CONSCRIPT COURAGE 247 

who continued to fire their rifles over the para- 
pet. "It's no use waitin' here any longer.' ' 
A heavy shell whooped roaring over them and 
crashed thunderously close behind the parapet. 
Bunthrop paid no slightest heed to it. His 
wide, staring eyes and white face, and blood 
smeared from the trickling wound in his neck, 
his capless head and tumbled hair, his clay and 
mud-caked and blood-stained uniform all gave 
him a look of wildness, of desperation, of aban- 
donment. His sergeant, the man who had seen 
his fear and set him to pile the sandbags, caught 
sight of him again now, heard some word of his 
shoutings, and pushed hastily along the trench 
to where he fidgeted and called angrily to the 
others to "chuck that silly shooting — I'm 
goin' anyhow . . . what's the use. ..." 

The sergeant interrupted sharply. 

"Here, you shut up, Bunthrop," he shouted. 
"Keep down in the trench. You're wounded, 
aren't you? Well, you'll get back presently." 

1 ' That be damn, ' ' said Bunthrop. ' ' You don 't 
understand. They're runnin' away, but we 
can't go out after 'em if these silly blighters 
here keep shootin'. Come on now, or they'll all 
be gone." And Private Bunthrop, the despised 
"conscript," slung his bayoneted rifle over his 
wounded shoulder and commenced to scramble 
up out over the front of the broken parapet. 
And what is more he was really and genuinely 



248 ACTION FEONT 

annoyed when the sergeant catching him by the 
heel dragged him down again and ordered him 
to stay there. 

" Don't you understand ?" he stuttered ex- 
citedly, and gesticulating fiercely towards the 
front. " They're runnin', I tell you; the blight- 
ers are runnin' away. Why can't we get out 
after 'em!" 



SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK 

" . . . a violent counter-attack was delivered 
but was successfully repulsed at every point 
with heavy losses to the enemy." — Extract 
from Official Despatch. 

There appears to be some doubt as to who 
rightly claims to have been the first to notice 
and report signs of the massing of heavy forces 
of Germans for the connter-attack on our posi- 
tions. The infantry say that a scouting patrol 
fumbling about in the darkness in front of the 
forward fire trench heard suspicious sounds — 
little clickings of equipment and accouterments, 
stealthy rustlings, distant tramping — and re- 
ported on their return to the trench. An artil- 
lery observing officer is said to have seen flit- 
ting shadows of figures in the gray light of the 
dawn mists, and, later, an odd glimpse of cau- 
tious movement amongst the trees of a wood 
some little distance behind the German lines, 
and an unbroken passing of gray-covered heads 
behind a portion of a communication trench 
parapet. He also reported, and he may have 
been responsible for the dozen or so of shrap- 

249 



250 ACTION FRONT 

nel that were flung tentatively into and over 
the wood. An airman droning high over the 
lines, with fleecy white puffs of shrapnel smoke 
breaking about him, also saw and reported 
clearly " large force of Germans massing Map 
Square So-and-so." 

But whoever was responsible for the first re- 
port matters little. The great point is that the 
movement was detected in good time, appar- 
ently before the preparations for attack were 
complete, so that the final arraying and dis- 
posal of the force for the launching of the at- 
tack was hampered and checked, and made per- 
force under a demoralizing artillery fire. 

What the results might have been if the full 
weight of the massed attack could have been 
prepared without detection and flung on our 
lines without warning is hard to say ; but there 
is every chance that our first line at least might 
have been broken into and swamped by the 
sheer weight of numbers. That, clearly, is what 
the Germans had intended, and from the number 
of men employed it is evident that they meant 
to push to the full any chance our breaking line 
gave them to reoccupy and hold fast a consid- 
erable portion of the ground they had lost. It 
is said that three to four full divisions were 
used. If that is correct, it is certain that the 
German army was minus three to four effective 
divisions when the attack withdrew, that a good 



SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK 251 

half of the men in them would never fight again. 
The attack lost its first great advantage in los- 
ing the element of surprise. The bulk of the 
troops would have been moved into position in 
the hours of darkness. That wood, in all prob- 
ability, was filled with men by night. The only 
daylight movement attempted would have been 
the cautious filling of the trenches, the pouring 
in of the long gray-coated lines along the com- 
munication trenches, all keeping well down and 
under cover. Under the elaborate system of 
deep trenches, fire-, and support-, communica- 
tion- and approach-trenches running back for 
miles to emerge only behind houses or hill or 
wood, it is surprising how large a mass of men 
can be pushed into the forward trenches with- 
out any disclosure of movement to the enemy. 
Scores of thousands of men may be packed 
away waiting motionless for the word, more 
thousands may be pouring slowly up the com- 
munication ways, and still more thousands 
standing ready a mile or two behind the lines ; 
and yet to any eye looking from the enemy's 
side the country is empty and still, and bare 
of life as a swept barn. Even the all-seeing 
airmen can be cheated, and see nothing but 
the usual quiet countryside, the tangled criss- 
cross of trenches, looking from above like so 
many wriggling lines of thin white braid with a 
black cord-center, the neat dolls ' toy-houses and 



252 ACTION FRONT 

streets of the villages, the straight, broad rib- 
bon of the Route Nationale, all still and lifeless, 
except for an odd cart or two on the high road, 
a few dotted figures in the village streets. Be- 
low the flying-men the packed thousands are 
crouched still to earth. At the sound of the 
engine's drone, at sight of the wheeling shape, 
square miles of country stiffen to immobility, 
men scurry under cover of wall or bush, the 
long, moving lines in the trenches halt and sink 
down and hang their heads (next to movement 
the light dots of upturned, staring faces are the 
quickest and surest betrayal of the earth-men 
to the air-men), the open roads are emptied of 
men into the ditches and under the trees. For 
civilized man, in his latest art of war, has gone 
back to be taught one more simple lesson by the 
beasts of the field and birds of the air; the 
armed hosts are hushed and stilled by the pass- 
ing air-machine, exactly as the finches and field- 
mice of hedgerow and ditch and field are frozen 
to stillness by the shadow of a hovering hawk, 
the beat of its passing wing. 

But this time some movement in the trenches, 
some delay in halting a regiment, some neglect 
to keep men under cover, some transport too 
suspiciously close-spaced on the roads, betrayed 
the movement. His suspicions aroused, the air- 
man would have risked the anti-aircraft guns 
and dropped a few hundred feet and narrowly 



SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK 253 

searched each hillside and wood for the tell- 
tale gray against the green. Then the wireless 
would commence to talk, or the 'plane swoop 
round and drive headlong for home to report. 

And then, picture the bustle at the different 
headquarters, the stir amongst the signalers, 
the frantic pipings of the telephone "buzzers," 
the sharp calls. "Take a message. Ready! 
Brigade H.Q. to O.C. Such-and-such Battery," 
or "to O.C. So-and-So Regiment"; imagine the 
furtive scurry in the trenches to man the para- 
pets, and prepare bombs, and lay out more am- 
munition; the rush at the batteries, the quick 
consulting of squared maps, the bellowed string 
of orders in a jargon of angles of sight, cor- 
rectors, ranges, figures and measures of de- 
grees and yards, the first scramble about the 
guns dropping to the smooth work of ordered 
movement, the peering gun muzzles jerking and 
twitching to their ordained angles, the click and 
slam of the closing breech-blocks, the tense still- 
ness as each gun reports "Ready!" and waits 
the word to fire. 

And all the while imagine the Germans out 
there, creeping through the trees, crowding 
along the trenches, sifting out and settling down 
into the old favorite formation, making all 
ready for one more desperate trial of it, stack- 
ing the cards for yet another deep gambling 
plunge on the great German game — the massed 



254 ACTION FRONT 

attack in solid lines at close interval. The plan 
no doubt was the same old plan — a quick and 
overwhelming torrent of shell fire, a sudden 
hurricane of high explosive on the forward 
trench, and then, before the supports could be 
hurried up and brought in any weight through 
the reeking, shaking inferno of the shell-smitten 
communication trenches, the surge forward of 
line upon line, wave upon wave, of close-locked 
infantry. 

But the density of mass, the solid breadth, 
the depth, bulk, and weight of men so irresist- 
ible at close-quarter work, is an invitation to 
utter destruction if it is caught by the guns 
before it can move. And so this time it was 
caught. Given their target, given the word 
"Go," the guns wasted no moment. The first 
battery ready burst a quick couple of ranging 
shots over the wood. A spray of torn leaves 
whirling from the tree tops, the toss of a broken 
branch, showed the range correct; and before 
the first rounds ' solid white cotton-wooly balls 
of smoke had thinned and disappeared, puff- 
puff-puff the shrapnel commenced to burst in 
clouds over the wood. That was the beginning. 
Gun after gun, battery after battery, picked up 
the range and poured shells over and into the 
wood, went searching every hollow and hole, 
rending and destroying trench and dug-out, 
parapet and parados. The trenches, clean white 



SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK 255 

streaks and zig-zags of chalk on a green slope, 
made perfect targets on which the guns made 
perfect shooting; the wood was a mark that no 
gun could miss, and surely no gun missed. 
What the scene in that wood must have been is 
beyond imagining and beyond telling. It was 
quickly shrouded in a pall of drifting smoke, 
and dimly through this the observing officers 
directing the fire of their guns could see clouds 
of leaves and twigs whirling and leaping under 
the lashing shrapnel, could see branches and 
smashed tree-trunks and great clods of earth 
and stone flying upward and outward from the 
blast of the lyddite shells. The wood was 
slashed to ribbons, rent and riddled to tatters, 
deluged from above with tearing blizzards of 
shrapnel bullets, scorched and riven with high- 
explosive shells. In the trenches our men cow- 
ered at first, listening in awe to the rushing 
whirlwinds of the shells ' passage over their 
heads, the roar of the cannonade behind them, 
the crash and boom of the bursting shells in 
front, the shriek and whirr of flying splinters, 
the splintering crash of the shattering trees. 

The German artillery strove to pick up the 
plan of the attack, to beat down the torrent 
of our batteries ' fire, to smash in the forward 
trenches, shake the defense, open the way for 
the massed attack. But the contest was too un- 
equal, the devastation amongst the crowded 



256 ACTION FRONT 

mass of German infantry too awful to be al- 
lowed to continue. Plainly the attack, ready or 
not ready, had to be launched at speed, or per- 
ish where it stood. 

And so it was that our New Armies had a 
glimpse of what the old "Contemptible Little 
Army ,, has seen and faced so often, the huge 
gray bulk looming through the drifting smoke, 
the packed mass of the old German infantry at- 
tack. There were some of these "Old Contemp- 
tibles, ,, as they proudly style themselves now, 
who said when it was all over, and they had 
time to think of anything but loading and firing 
a red-hot rifle, that this attack did not compare 
favorably with the German attacks of the Mons- 
Marne days, that it lacked something of the 
steadiness, the rolling majesty of power, the 
swinging stride of the old attacks; that it did 
not come so far or so fast, that beaten back it 
took longer to rally and come again, that com- 
ing again it was easier than ever to bring to 
a stand. But against that these "Old Con- 
temptibles ' ' admit that they never in the old 
days fought under such favorable conditions, 
that here in this fight they were in better con- 
structed and deeper trenches, that they were 
far better provided with machine-guns, and, 
above all, that they had never, never, never had 
such a magnificent backing from our guns, such 



SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK 257 

a tremendous stream of shells helping to smash 
the attack. 

And smashed, hopelessly and horribly 
smashed, the attack assuredly was. The woods 
in and behind which the German hordes were 
massed lay from three to four hundred yards 
from the muzzles of our rifles. Imagine it, you 
men who were not there, you men of the New 
Armies still training at home, you riflemen prac- 
ticing and striving to work up the number of 
aimed rounds fired in "the mad minute,' ' you 
machine-gunners riddling holes in a target or 
a row of posts. Imagine it, oh you Artillery, 
imagine the target lavishly displayed in solid 
blocks in the open, with a good four hundred 
yards of ground to go under your streaming 
gun-muzzles. The gunners who were there that 
day will tell you how they used that target, 
will tell you how they stretched themselves 
to the call for " gun-fire" (which is an order 
for each gun to act independently, to fire and 
keep on firing as fast as it can be served), how 
the guns grew hotter and hotter, till the paint 
bubbled and blistered and flaked off them in 
patches, till the breech burned the incautious 
hand laid on it, till spurts of oil had to be 
sluiced into the breech from a can between 
rounds and sizzled and boiled like fat in a fry- 
ing-pan as it fell on the hot steel, how the whole 
gun smoked and reeked with heated oil, and 



258 ACTION FRONT 

how the gun-detachments were half-deaf for 
days after. 

It was such a target as gunners in their fond- 
est dreams dare hardly hope for; and such a 
target as war may never see again, for surely 
the fate of such massed attacks will be a warn- 
ing to all infantry commanders for all time. 

The guns took their toll, and where death 
from above missed, death from the level came 
in an unbroken torrent of bullets sleeting across 
the open from rifles and machine-guns. On our 
trenches shells were still bursting, maxim and 
rifle bullets were still pelting from somewhere 
in half enfilade at long range. But our men had 
no time to pay heed to these. They hitched 
themselves well up on the parapet to get the 
fuller view of their mark; their officers for the 
most part had no need to bother about directing 
or controlling the fire — what need, indeed, to 
direct with such a target bulking big before the 
sights? What need to control when the only 
speed limit was a man's capacity to aim and 
fire? So the officers, for the most part, took 
rifle themselves and helped pelt lead into the 
slaughter-pit. 

There are few, if any, who can give details of 
how or when the attack perished. A thick haze 
of smoke from the bursting shells blurred the 
picture. To the eyes of the defenders there was 
only a picture of that smoke-fog, with a gray 



SMASHING THE COUNTER-ATTACK 259 

wall of men looming through it, moving, walk- 
ing, running towards them, falling and rolling, 
and looming up again and coming on, melting 
away into tangled heaps that disappeared again 
behind advancing men, who in turn became 
more falling and fallen piles. It was like watch- 
ing those chariot races in a theater where the 
horses gallop on a stage revolving under their 
feet, and for all their fury of motion always 
remain in the same place. So it was with the 
German line — it was pressing furiously for- 
ward, but always appeared to remain stationary 
or to advance so slowly that it gave no impres- 
sion of advancing, but merely of growing big- 
ger. Once, or perhaps twice, the advancing line 
disappeared altogether, melted away behind the 
drifting smoke, leaving only the mass of dark 
blotches sprawled on the grass. At these times 
the fire died away along a part of our front, 
and the men paused to gulp a drink from a 
water-bottle, to look round and tilt their caps 
back and wipe the sweat from their brows, to 
gasp joyful remarks to one another about 
"gettin' a bit of our own back," and "this pays 
for the ninth o' May," and then listen to the 
full, deep roar of rifle-fire that rolled out from 
further down the line, and try to peer through 
the shifting smoke to see how "the lot next 
door" was faring. But these respites were 
short. A call and a crackle of fire at their el- 



260 ACTION FEONT 

bows brought them back to business, to the 
grim business of purposeful and methodical 
killing, of wiping out that moving wall that was 
coming steadily at them again through the 
smoke and flame of the bursting shells. The 
great bulk of the line came no nearer than a 
hundred yards from our line; part pressed in 
another twenty or thirty yards, and odd bunches 
of the dead were found still closer. But none 
came to grips — none, indeed, were found within 
forty yards of our rifles ' wall of fire. A scat- 
tered remnant of the attackers ran back, some 
whole and some hurt, thousands crawled away 
wounded, to reach the safe shelter of their sup- 
port trenches, some to be struck down by the 
shells that still kept pounding down upon the 
death-swept field. The counter-attack was 
smashed — hopelessly and horribly smashed. 



A GENERAL ACTION 

"At some points our lines have been slightly 1 
advanced and their position improved," — Ex- 

TKACT FROM DESPATCH. 

It has to be admitted by all who know him 
that the average British soldier has a deep- 
rooted and emphatic objection to " fatigues,' ' 
all trench-digging and pick-and- shovel work be- 
ing included under that title. This applies to 
the New Armies as well as the Old, and when 
one remembers the safety conferred by a good 
deep trench and the fact that few men are anx- 
ious to be killed sooner than is strictly neces- 
sary, the objection is regrettable and very sur- 
prising. Still there it is, and any officer will 
tell you that his men look on trench-digging 
with distaste, have to be constantly persuaded 
and chivvied into doing anything like their best 
at it, and on the whole would apparently much 
rather take their chance in a shallow or poorly- 
constructed trench than be at the labor of mak- 
ing it deep and safe. 

But one piece of trench-digging performed 
by the Tearaway Rifles must come pretty near a 
record for speed. 

261 



262 ACTION FRONT 

When the Rifles moved in for their regular 
spell in the forward line, their O.C. was in- 
structed that his battalion had to construct a 
section of new trench in ground in front of the 
forward trench. 

It was particularly unfortunate that just 
about this time the winter issue of a regular 
rum ration had ceased, and that, immediately 
before they moved in, a number of the Tear- 
aways had been put under stoppages of pay for 
an escapade with which this story need have 
no concern. 

Without pay the men, of course, were cut off 
from even the sour and watery delights of the 
beer sold in the local estaminets, which abound 
in the villages where the troops are billeted in 
reserve some miles behind the firing line. As 
Sergeant Clancy feelingly remarked: 

"They stopped the pay, and that stops the 
beer; and then they stopped the rum. It's no 
pleasure in life they leave us at all, at all. 
They'll be afther stopping the fighting next." 

Of that last, however, there was compara- 
tively little fear at the moment. A brisk action 
had opened some days before the Tearaways 
were brought up from the reserve, and the for- 
ward line which they were now sent in to oc- 
cupy had been a German trench less than a 
week before. 

The main fighting had died down, but because 



A GENERAL ACTION 263 

the British were suspicious of counter-attacks, 
and the Germans afraid of a continued British 
movement, the opposing lines were very fully 
on the alert; the artillery on both sides were 
indulging in constant dueling, and the infantry 
were doing everything possible to prevent any 
sudden advantage being snatched by the other 
side. 

As soon as the Tearaways were established 
in the new position, the O.C. and the adjutant 
made a tour of their lines, carefully reconnoiter- 
ing through their periscopes the open ground 
which had been pointed out to them on the map 
as the line of the new trench which they were 
to commence digging. At this point the for- 
ward trench was curved sharply inward, and 
the new trench was designed to run across and 
outwards from the ends of the curve, meeting 
in a wide angle at a point where a hole had been 
dug and a listening-post established. 

It was only possible to reach this listening- 
post by night, and the half-dozen men in it had 
to remain there throughout the day, since it 
was impossible to move across the open be- 
tween the post and the trenches by daylight. 
The right-hand portion of the new trench run- 
ning from the listening-post back to the for- 
ward trench had already been sketched out with 
entrenching tools, but it formed no cover be- 



264 ACTION FRONT 

cause it was enfiladed by a portion of the Ger- 
man trench. 

It was the day when the Tearaways moved 
into the new position, and the O.C. had been 
instructed that he was expected to commence 
digging operations as soon as it was dark that 
night, the method and manner of digging being 
left entirely in his own hand. The Major, the 
Adjutant, and a couple of Captains conferred 
gloomily over the prospective task. That repu- 
tation of a dislike for digging stood in the way 
of a quick job being made. The stoppage of 
the rum ration prevented even an inducement 
in the shape of an " extra tot" being promised 
for extra good work, and it was well known to 
all the officers that the stoppage of pay had put 
the men in a sulky humor, which made them a 
little hard to handle, and harder to drive than 
the proverbial pigs. It was decided that noth- 
ing should be said to the men of the task ahead 
of them until it was time to tell off the fatigue 
party and start them on the work. 

"It's no good," said the Captain, "leaving 
them all the afternoon to chew it over. They'd 
only be talking themselves into a state that is 
first cousin to insubordination." 

"I wish," said the other Captain, "they had 
asked us to go across and take another slice of 
the German trench. The men would do it a lot 



A GENERAL ACTION 265 

quicker and surer, and a lot more willing, than 
they'd dig a new one." 

"The men," said the Colonel tartly, "are not 
going to be asked what they'd like any more 
than IVe been. I want you each to go down 
quietly and have a look over at the new ground, 
tell the company commanders what the job is, 
and have a talk with me after as to what you 
think is the best way of setting about it. ' ' 

That afternoon Lieutenant Riley and Lieu- 
tenant Brock took turns in peering through a 
periscope at the line of the new trench, and dis- 
cussed the problem presented. 

" It 's all very fine, ' ' grumbled Riley, ' t for the 
O.C. to say the men must dig because he says 
so. You can take a horse to the water where 
you can't make it drink, and by the same token 
you can put a spade in a man 's hand where you 
can't make him dig, or if he does dig he'll only 
do it as slow and gingerly as if it were his own 
grave and he was to be buried in it as soon as 
it was ready." 

"Don't talk about burying," retorted Brock. 
"It isn't a pleasant subject with so many can- 
didates for a funeral scattered around the front 
door." 

He sniffed the air, and made an exclamation 
of disgust : 

"They haven't even been chloride-of-limed," 
he said. "A lot of lazy, untidy brutes that bat- 



266 ACTION FRONT 

talion must have been we have just relieved.' ' 

Riley stared again into the periscope: ''It's 
German the most of them are, anyway,' ' he 
said, " that's one consolation, although it's 
small comfort to a sense of smell. I say, have 
a look at that man lying over there, out to the 
left of the listening-post. His head is towards 
us, and his hair is white as driven snow. They 
must be getting hard up for men to be using 
up the grandfathers of that age." 

Brock examined the white head carefully. 
"He's a pretty old stager," he said, "unless 
he's a young 'un whose hair has turned white 
in a night like they do in novels ; or, maybe he's 
a General." 

"A General!" said Riley, and stopped ab- 
ruptly. "Man, now, wait a minute. A Gen- 
eral!" he continued musingly, and then sud- 
denly burst into chuckles, and nudged Brock 
in the ribs. "I have a great notion," he said, 
"gr-r-reat notion, Brockie. What '11 you bet I 
don't get the men coming to us before night 
with a petition to be allowed to do some dig- 
ging?" 

Brock stared at him. "You're out of your 
senses," he said. "I'd as soon expect them to 
come with a petition to be allowed to sign the 
pledge." 

"Well, now listen," said Riley, "and we'll 
try it, anyway." 



A GENERAL ACTION 267 

He explained swiftly, while over Brock's face 
a gentle smile beamed and widened into sub- 
dued chucklings. 

"Here's Sergeant Clancy coming along the 
trench,' ' said Riley. "You have the notion 
now, so play up to me, and make sure Clancy 
hears every word you say." 

"I want to see that General of theirs the 
Bosche prisoner spoke about," said Riley, as 
Clancy came well within earshot. "An old 
man, the Bosche said he was, with a head of 
hair as white and shining as a gull's wing." 

"I'm not so interested in his shining head," 
said Brock, "as I am in the shining gold he 
carries on him. Doesn't it seem sinful waste 
for all that good money to be lying out there ? ' ' 

Out of the tail of his eye Riley saw the ser- 
geant halt and stiffen into an attitude of listen- 
ing. He turned round. 

"Was it me you wanted to see, Clancy?" he 
said. 

"No, sorr — yes, sorr," said Clancy hurriedly, 
and then more slowly, in neat adoption of the 
remarks he had just heard: "Leastways, sorr, I 
was just afther wondering if you had heard 
anything of this tale of a German Gineral lying 
out there on the ground beyanst." 

"You mean the one that was shot last week?" 
said Riley. 

"Him with the five thousand francs in his 



268 ACTION FEONT 

breeches pocket, and the diamond-studded gold 
watch on his wrist?' ' said Brock. 

"The same, sorr, the same!" said Clancy 
eagerly, and with his eyes glistening. "And 
have you made out which of them he is, sorr?" 

"No," said Riley shortly. "And remember, 
Sergeant, there are to be no men going over 
the parapet this night without orders. The 
last battalion in here lost a big handful of men 
trying to get hold of that General, but the Ger- 
mans were watching too close, and they've got 
a machine-gun trained to cover him. See to it, 
Clancy! That's all now." 

Sergeant Clancy moved off, but he went re- 
luctantly. 

< < Why didn 't you give him a bit more ! ' ' asked 
Brock. 

"Because I know Clancy," said Riley, whis- 
pering. "If we had said more now, he might 
have suspected a plant. As it is, he's got 
enough to tickle his curiosity, and you can be 
sure it won't be long before a gentle pumping 
performance is in operation." 

Sergeant Clancy came in sight round the tra- 
verse again, moving briskly, but obviously 
slowing down as he passed them, and very ob- 
viously straining to hear anything they were 
saying. But they both kept silent, and when 
he had disappeared round the next traverse, 
Riley grinned and winked at his companion. 



A GENERAL ACTION 269 

"He's hooked, Brockie," he said exultantly. 

"Now you wait and " He stopped as a 

rifle-man moved round the corner and took up 
a position on the firing step near them. 

"I'll bet," said Riley delightedly, "Clancy 
has put him there to listen to anything he can 
catch us saying." 

He turned to the man, who was clipping a 
tiny mirror on to his bayonet and hoisting it to 
use as a periscope. 

"Are you on the look-out?" he asked. "And 
who posted you there?" 

"It was Sergeant Clancy, sir," answered the 
man. "He said I could hear better — I mean, 
see better," he corrected himself, "from here." 

Riley abruptly turned to their own periscope 
and apparently resumed the conversation. 

"I'm almost sure that's him with the white 
head," said Riley. "Out there, about forty or 
fifty yards from the German parapet, and about 
a hundred yards ten o 'clock from our listening- 
post. Have a look." 

He handed the periscope over to Brock, and 
at the same time noticed how eagerly the sen- 
try was also having a look into his own peri- 
scope. 

"I've got him," said Brock "Yes, I believe 
that's the man." 

"What makes it more certain," said Riley, 
"is that hen's scratch of a trench the other bat- 



270 ACTION FRONT 

talion started to dig out to the listening-post. 
They couldn't crawl out in the open to get to 
the General, and it's my belief they meant to 
drive a sap out to the listening-post, and then 
out to the General, and yank him in, so they 
could go through his pockets." 

"It's a good bit of work to get at a dead 
man," said Brock reflectively. 

"It is," said Riley, "but it isn't often you 
can drive a sap with five thousand francs at the 
end of it." 

"To say nothing of a diamond-studded gold 
watch," said Brock. 

"Well, well," said Riley, "I suppose the 
Germans won't be leaving him lying out there 
much longer. I hear the last battalion bagged 
quite a bunch that tried to creep out at night 
to get him in; but I suppose our fellows, not 
knowing about it, won't watch him so care- 
fully." 

They turned the conversation to other and 
more casual things, and shortly afterwards 
moved off. 

The first-fruits of their sowing showed within 
the hour, when some of the officers were having 
tea together in a corner of a ruined cottage, 
which had been converted into a keep. 

The servant who was preparing tea had 
placed a battered pot on the half of a broken 
door, which served for a mess table; had laid 



A GENERAL ACTION 271 

out a loaf of bread, tin pots of jam, a cake, and 
a flattened box of flattened chocolates, and these 
offices having been fully performed he should 
have retired. Instead, however, he fidgeted to 
and fro, offered to pour the tea from the dented 
coffee-pot, asked if anything more was wanted, 
pushed the loaf over to the Captain, apologizing 
at length for the impossibility of getting a 
scrape of butter these days ; hovered round the 
table, and generally made it plain that he had 
something he wished to say, or that he supposed 
they had something to say he wished to hear. 

"What are you dodging about there for, 
man f ' ' the Captain asked irritably at last. ' i Is 
it anything you want ? 9 ' 

"Nothing, sorr," said the man, "only I was 
just wondering if you had heard annything of a 
Gineral with fifty thousand francs in his 
pocket, lying out there beyond the trench." 

"Five thousand francs," corrected Riley 
gently. 

" 'Twas fifty thousand I heard, sorr," said 
the man eagerly; "but ye have heard, then, 
sorr?" 

"What's this about a General?" demanded 
the Captain. 

"Yes!" said Riley quickly. "What is it? 
We have heard nothing of the General." 

"Ah!" said the messman, eyeing him 
thoughtfully, "I thought maybe ye had heard." 



272 ACTION FRONT 

"We have heard nothing," said Riley. 
"What is it you are talking about ?" 

"About them fifty thousand francs, sorr," 
said the messman, cunningly, "or five thou- 
sand, was it?" 

"What's this?" said the Captain, and the 
others making no attempt to answer his ques- 
tion, left the messman to tell a voluble tale of 
a German General ("though 'twas a Field-Mar- 
shal some said it was, and others went the 
length of Von Kluck himself") who had been 
killed some days before, and lay out in the open 
with five thousand, or fifty thousand, francs in 
his breeches pocket, a diamond-studded gold 
watch on his wrist, diamond rings on his fingers, 
and his breast covered with Iron Crosses and 
jeweled Orders. 

That both Riley and Brock, as well as the 
Captain, professed their profound ignorance 
of the tale only served, as they well knew, to 
strengthen the Tearaways Rifles' belief in it, 
and after the man had gone they imparted their 
plan with huge delight and joyful anticipation 
to the Captain. 

When they had finished tea and left the keep 
to return to their own posts, they were met by 
Sergeant Clancy. 

"I just wanted to speak wid you a moment, 
sorr," he said. "I have been looking at that 
listening-post, and thinking to myself wouldn't 



A GENERAL ACTION 273 

it be as well if we ran a sap out to it ; it would 
save the crawling out across the open at night, 
and keeping the men — and some wounded 
among them maybe — cooped up the whole day." 

" There's something in that," said the Cap- 
tain, pretending to reflect. " And I see the last 
battalion had made something of a beginning 
to dig a trench out to the post." 

"And they must have been thinking with 
their boots when they dug it there," said Riley. 
"A trench on that side is open to enfilade fire. 
It should have been dug out from the left cor- 
ner of that curve instead of the right." 

"If you would speak to the O.C. about it, 
sorr," said Clancy, "he might be willing to let 
us dig it. The men is fresh, too, and won't 
harm for a bit of exercise. ' ' 

"Very well," said the Captain carelessly, 
"we'll see about it to-morrow." 

"Begging your pardon, sorr," said Clancy, 
"I was thinking it would be a good night to- 
night, seein' there's a strong wind blowing that 
would deaden the sound of the digging." 

"That's true enough," the Captain said 
slowly. "I think it's an excellent idea, Clancy, 
and I'll speak to the O.C, and tell him you sug- 
gested it." 

A few minutes after, an orderly brought a 
message that the O.C. was coming round the 
trenches to see the company commanders. The 



274 ACTION FRONT 

company commanders found him with rather a 
sharp edge to his temper, and Captain Conroy, 
to whom Riley and Brock had confided the se- 
cret of their plans, concluded the moment was 
not a happy one for explaining the ruse to the 
O.C. He, therefore, merely took his instruc- 
tions for the detailing of a working party from 
his company, and the hour at which they were 
to commence. 

"And remember," said the O.C. sharply, 
"you will stand no nonsense over this work. If 
you think any man is loafing or not doing his 
full share, make him a prisoner, or do anything 
else you think fit. I'll back you in it, whatever 
it is." 

Conroy murmured a "Very good, sir," and 
left it at that. When he returned to his com- 
pany he made arrangements for the working 
party, implying subtly to Sergeant Clancy that 
the trench was to be started as the result of his, 
the sergeant's, arguments. 

Clancy went back to the men in high feather : 

"I suppose now," he said complacently, 
"there's some would be like to laugh if they 
were told that a blessed sergeant could be say- 
ing where and when he'd be having this trench 
or that trench dug or not dug; but there's more 
ways of killing a cat than choking it with but- 
ter, and Ould Prickles can take a hint as good 
as the next man when it's put to him right." 



A GENERAL ACTION 275 

" Prickles,' ' be it noted, being the fitting, if 
somewhat disrespectful, name which the O.C. 
carried in the Rifles. 

"It's yourself has the tongue on ye," ad- 
mitted Rifleman McRory admiringly, "though 
I'm wonnering how '11 you be schamin' to get 
another trench dug from the listening-post out 
to the Gineral." 

" 'Twill take some scheming," agreed an- 
other rifleman, "but maybe we can get round 
the officer that's in the listening-post to-night to 
let us drive a sap out. ' ' 

"It's not him ye '11 be getting round," said 
McRory, "for it's the Little Lad himself that's 
in it. But sure the Little Lad will be that glad 
to see me offer to take a pick in my hand that 
I believe he'd be willing to let me dig up his 
own grandfather's grave." 

"We'll find some way when the time comes, 
never fear, ' ' said Sergeant Clancy, and the men 
willingly agreed to leave the matter in his ca- 
pable hands. 

Immediately after dark, the Little Lad, other- 
wise Lieutenant Riley, led his party at a care- 
ful crawl and in wide-spaced single file out to 
the listening-post, while Brock and the Cap- 
tain crawled out with a couple of men, a white 
tape, and a handful of pegs apiece to mark out 
the line of the new trenches converging from 



276 ACTION FEONT 

the outside ends of the curved main trench to 
the listening-post. 

When they returned and reported their job 
complete, the working parties crawled cau- 
tiously out. There were plenty of flares being 
thrown up from the German lines and a more 
or less erratic rifle fire was crackling up and 
down the trenches on both sides, the Tearaways 
taking care to keep their bullets clear of the 
working party, to fire no more than enough to 
allay any German suspicions of a job being in 
hand, and not to provoke any extra hostility. 

The working party crept out one by one, car- 
rying their rifles and their trenching tools, 
dropping flat and still in the long grass every 
time a light flared, rising and crawling rapidly 
forward in the intervals of darkness. When at 
last they were strung out at distances of less 
than a man's length, they stealthily commenced 
operations. A line of filled sandbags was 
handed out from the main trench and passed 
along the chain of men until each had been pro- 
vided with one. 

Making the sand-bag a foundation for head 
cover, the men began cautiously to cut and scoop 
the soft ground and pile it up in front of them. 
The grass was long and rank, and in the shift- 
ing light the work went on unobserved for over 
an hour. The men, cramped and uncomfort- 
able, with every muscle aching from head to 



A GENERAL ACTION 277 

foot, worked doggedly, knowing each five min- 
utes' work, each handful of earth scooped out 
and thrown up, meant an extra point off the 
odds on a bullet reaching them when the Ger- 
mans discovered their operations and opened 
fire on the working party. 

They still worked only in the dark intervals 
between the flares, and, of course, in as deep a 
silence as they possibly could. Brock and the 
Captain crawled at intervals up and down the 
line with a word of praise or a reproach 
dropped here and there as it was needed. At 
the end of one trip, Brock crept into the listen- 
ing-post and conversed in whispers with Riley, 
his fellow-conspirator. 

"They're working like beavers," he said, 
"and, if the Boche doesn't twig the game for 
another half -hour, we'll have enough cover 
scooped out to go on without losing too many 
men from their fire." 

Riley chuckled. "It's working fine," he said. 
"I'm only hoping that some ruffian doesn't 
spoil the game by crawling out and finding our 
General is no more than a false alarm." 

"That would queer the pitch," agreed Brock, 
"but I don't fancy any one will try it. They all 
know the working party is liable to be discov- 
ered at any minute, and any one out in the open 
when that comes off, is going to be in a tight 



278 ACTION FRONT 

"There's a good many here," said Riley, 
' ' that would chance a few tight corners if they 
knew five thousand francs was at the other 
side of it; but I took the precaution to hint 
gently to Clancy that our machine gun was go- 
ing to keep on spraying lead round the Gen- 
eral all night, to discourage any private enter- 
prise." 

"Anyhow," said Brock, "I suppose the whole 
regiment's in it, and flatter themselves this 
trifle of digging is for the special benefit of their 
pockets. But what are those fellows of ours 
supposed to be digging at in the corner there?" 

"That," whispered the Little Lad, grinning, 
"is merely an improving of the amenities of 
the listening-post and the beginning of a dug- 
out shelter from bombs; at least, that's Clan- 
cy's suggestion, though I have a suspicion there 
will be no hurry to roof -in the dug-out and that 
its back-door will travel an unusual length 
out." 

"Well, so long," said Brock; "I must sneak 
along again and have a look at the digging." 

It was when he was half-way back to the 
main trench that it became apparent the Ger- 
man suspicions were aroused, and that some- 
thing — a movement after a light flared, perhaps, 
or the line of a parapet beginning to show above 
the grass — had drawn their attention to the 
work. 



A GENERAL ACTION 279 

Light after light commenced to toss in an un- 
broken stream from their parapet in the direc- 
tion of the working party, and a score of bul- 
lets, obviously aimed at them, hissed close over- 
head. 

" Glory be!" said Rifleman McRory, flatten- 
ing himself to the ground. "It's a good foot 
and a half I have of head-cover, and I'm think- 
ing it's soon we will be needing it, and all the 
rest we can get." 

The flaring lights ceased again for a moment, 
and the men plied their tools in feverish haste 
to strengthen their scanty shelter against the 
storm they knew must soon fall upon them. 

It came within a couple of minutes; again 
the lights streamed upward, and flares burst 
and floated down in dazzling balls of fierce white 
light, while the rifle-fire from the German para- 
pet grew heavier and heavier. Concealment 
was no longer possible, and the word was passed 
to get along with the work in light or dark ; and 
so, still lying flat upon their faces, and with 
the bullets hissing and whistling above them, 
slapping into the low parapet and into the bare 
ground beside them, the working party scooped 
and buried and scraped, knowing that every 
inch they could sink themselves or heighten 
their parapet added to their chance of life. 

The work they had done gave them a certain 
amount of cover, at least for the vital parts of 



280 ACTION FRONT 

head and shoulders, but in the next half-hour 
there were many casualties, and man after man 
worked on with blood oozing through the has- 
tily-applied bandage of a first field-dressing or 
crawled in under the scanty parapet and 
crouched there helplessly. 

It was little use at that stage trying to bring 
in the wounded. To do so only meant exposing 
them to almost a certainty of another wound 
and of further casualties amongst the stretcher- 
bearers. One or two men were killed. 

Lieutenant Riley, dragging himself along the 
line, found Rifleman McRory hard at work be- 
hind the shelter of a body rolled up on top of 
his parapet. 

"It's killed he is," said McRory in answer to 
a question — "killed to the bone. He won't be 
feeling any more bullets that hit him, and it's 
himself would be the one to have said to use 
him this way." 

Riley admitted the force of the argument and 
crept on. Work moved faster now that there 
was no need to wait for the periods between the 
lights; but the German fire also grew faster, 
and a machine gun began to pelt its bullets up 
and down the length of the growing parapet. 

By now, fortunately, the separate chain of 
pits dug by each man were practically all con- 
nected up into a long, twisting, shallow trench. 
Down this trench the wounded were passed, and 



A GENERAL ACTION 281 

a fresh working party relieved the cramped and 
tired batch who had commenced the work. 

In the main trench men had been hard at 
work filling sand-bags, and now these were 
passed ont, dragged along from man to man, 
and piled up on the parapet, doubling the se- 
curity of the workers and allowing them the 
greater freedom of rising to their knees to dig. 

The rifles and maxims of the Tearaways had 
from the main trench kept up a steady volume 
of fire on the German parapet, in an endeavor 
to keep down its fire. They shot from the main 
trench in comparative safety, because the Ger- 
man fire was directed almost exclusively on the 
new trench. 

Now that the new parapet had been height- 
ened and strengthened, the casualties behind it 
had almost ceased, and the Tearaways were 
quite reasonably flattering themselves on the 
worst of the work being done and the worst of 
the dangers over. It appeared to them that the 
trench now provided quite sufficient shelter to 
fulfill both its ostensible object of allowing re- 
lief parties to move to and from the listening- 
post, and also their own private undertaking 
of attaining the dead General ; but the O.C. and 
company commanders did not look on it in that 
light. 

The order was to construct a firing trench, 
and that meant a good deal more work than had 



282 ACTION FEONT 

been done, so reliefs were kept going and the 
work progressed steadily all night, a good deal 
of impetus being given to it by some light Ger- 
man field-guns which commenced to scatter 
high-explosive shrapnel over the open ground. 

The shooting, fortunately, was not very ac- 
curate, no doubt because, by the light of the 
flares, it was difficult for the German observers 
to direct their fire. But the hint was enough 
for the Tearaways, and they knew that day- 
break would bring more accurate and more con- 
stant artillery fire upon the new position. 

The British gunners had been warned not 
to open fire unless called upon, because a work- 
ing party was in the open ; but now the batteries 
were telephoned to with a request for shrapnel 
on the German parapets to keep down some of 
the heavy rifle fire. 

Since the gunners had already registered the 
target of the German trench, their fire was just 
as accurate by night as it would be by day, and 
shell after shell burst over the German parapet, 
sweeping their trench with showers of shrapnel. 

While all this was going on the men at the 
listening-post had tackled the job of driving 
their sap out to the German General. This work 
was done in a different fashion from the dig- 
ging of the new trench. 

The listening-post was merely a pit in the 
ground, originally a large shell crater, and deep- 



A GENERAL ACTION 283 

ened and widened until it was sufficiently large 
to hold half-a-dozen men. At one side of the 
pit the men commenced with pick and spade to 
hack out an opening like a very narrow door- 
way. 

As the earth was broken down and shoveled 
back, the doorway gradually grew to be a pas- 
sage. In this two men at a time worked in turn, 
the one on the right-hand side making a narrow 
cut that barely gave him shoulder-play, the sec- 
ond man on the left working a few paces in the 
rear and widening the passage. 

Necessarily it was slow work, because only 
these two men could reach the face of the cut, 
and because it had to be of sufficient depth to 
allow a man to work upright without his head 
showing above the ground. But because they 
worked in short reliefs and put every ounce of 
energy into their task, they made surprising 
and unusual progress. 

Lieutenant Riley, who was in command of the 
listening-post for that night, left the workers 
to themselves, both because it was necessary for 
him to keep a sharp look-out in order to give 
warning of any attempt to rush the working 
party, and because officially he was not sup- 
posed to know anything of any sap to an of- 
ficially unrecognized dead German General. 

"When he was relieved after daybreak, Riley 
told the joke and explained the position to the 



284 ACTION FEONT 

subaltern who took over from him, and that 
subaltern in turn looked with a merely unofficial 
eye on the work of the sapping party. As the 
day and the work went on, it was quite obvious 
that a good many more men were working on 
the new trench than had been told off to it. 

In the sap several fresh men were con- 
stantly awaiting their turn at the face with 
pick and shovel. The diggers did no more than 
five minutes' work, hacking and spading at top 
speed, yielding their tools to the next comer and 
retiring, panting and blowing and mopping 
their streaming brows. 

A fairly constant fire was maintained by the 
artillery on both sides, the shells splashing and 
crashing on the open ground about the new 
trench and the German parapet. There was 
little wind, and as a result the smoke of the 
shell-bursts hung heavily and trailed slowly 
over the open space between the trenches, veil- 
ing to some extent the sapping operations and 
the new trench. On the latter a tendency was 
quickly displayed to slacken work and to treat 
the job as being sufficiently complete, but when 
it came to Lieutenant Riley's turn to take 
charge of a fresh relief of workers on the new 
trench, he very quickly succeeded in brisking 
up operations. 

Arrived at the listening-post, he found Ser- 
geant Clancy and spoke a few words to him. 



A GENERAL ACTION 285 

" Clancy," he said gently, "the work along 
that new trench is going a great deal too slow." 

" 'Tis hard work, sorr," replied Clancy ex- 
cnsingly, "and you'll be remembering the boys 
have been at it all night. ' ' 

"Quite so, Clancy," said Eiley smoothly, 
"and since it has to be dug a good six foot 
deep, I am just thinking the best thing to do 
will be to take this other party off the sap and 
turn 'em along to help on the trench. I'm not 
denying, Clancy, that I've a notion what the 
sap is for, although I'm supposed to know noth- 
ing of it; but I don't care if the sap is made, 
and I do care that the trench is. Now do you 
think I had better stop them on the sap, or can 
the party in the trench put a bit more ginger 
into it?" 

"I'll just step along the trench again, sorr," 
said Clancy anxiously, "and I don't think you'll 
be having need to grumble again. ' ' 

He stepped along the trench, and he left an 
extraordinary increase of energy behind him as 
he went. 

"And what use might it be to make it any 
deeper?" grumbled McRory. "Sure it's deep 
enough for all we need it." 

"May be," said Sergeant Clancy, with bitter 
sarcasm, "it's yourself that'll just be stepping 
up to the Colonel and saying friendly like to 
him: i Prickles, me lad, it's deep enough we've 



286 ACTION FRONT 

dug to lave us get out to our German Gineral. 
'Tisn't for you we're digging this trench,' 
you'll be saying, * 'tis for our own pleasure 
entirely.' You might just let me know what 
the Colonel says to that." 

1 ( There 's some talk, ' ' he said, a little further 
down the line, i ' of our being relieved from here 
to-morrow afternoon. I've told you what the 
Little Lad was saying about turning the sap 
party in to help here. It's pretty you'd look 
clearing out to-morrow and leaving another bat- 
talion to come in to take over your new trench 
and your new sap and your German Gineral 
and the gold in his britches pocket together." 
And with that parting shaft he moved on. 

For the rest of that day and all that night 
work moved at speed, and when the O.C. made 
his tour of inspection the following morning he 
was as delighted as he was amazed at the work 
done — and that, as he told the Adjutant, was 
saying something. Up to now he had known 
nothing of the sap, merely expressing satisfac- 
tion — again mingled with amazement — when he 
saw the entrance to the sap, lightly roofed in 
with boards for a couple of yards and shut off 
beyond that by a curtain of sacking, and was 
told that the men were amusing themselves mak- 
ing a bomb-proof dug-out. 

But on this last morning, when the sap had 



A GENERAL ACTION 287 

approached to within twenty or thirty feet of 
the white head which was its objective, the Col- 
onel's attention was directed to the matter 
somewhat forcibly. He heard the roar of ex- 
ploding heavy shells, and as the "crump, 
crump/' continued steadily, he telephoned from 
the headquarters dug-out in rear of the sup- 
port line to ask the forward trenches what was 
happening. 

While he waited an answer, a message came 
from the Brigade saying that the artillery had 
reported heavy German shelling on a sap-head, 
and demanding to know what, where, and why 
was the sap-head referred to. While the Col- 
onel was puzzling over this mysterious message 
and vainly trying to recall any sap-head within 
his sector of line, the regimental Padre came 
into the dug-out. 

"I've just come from the dressing station," 
he said, "and there's a boy there, McRory, that 
has me fair bewildered with his ravings. He's 
wounded in the head with a shrapnel splinter, 
and, although he seems sane and sensible 
enough in other ways, he's been begging me and 
the doctor not to send him back to the hospi- 
tal. Did ever ye hear the like, and him with a 
lump as big as the palm of my hand cut from his 
head to the bare bone, and bleeding like a stuck 
pig in an apoplexy?" 

The Colonel looked at him vacantly, his mind 



288 ACTION FEONT 

between this and the other problem of the Bri- 
gade's message. 

"And that's not all that's in it," went on the 
Padre. ' ' The doctor was telling me that there 's 
been a round dozen of the past two days' cas- 
ualties begging that same thing — not to be sent 
away till we come out of the trenches. And to 
beat all, McRory, when he was told he was go- 
ing just the minute the ambulance came, had a 
confab with the stretcher bearers, and I heard 
him arguing with them about 'his share,' and 
' when they got the Gineral,' and 'my bit o' the 
fifty thousand francs.' It has me beat com- 
pletely." 

By now the Colonel was completely bewild- 
ered, and he began to wonder whether he or 
his battalion were hopelessly mad. It was ex- 
traordinary enough that the men should have 
dug so willingly and well, and without a grum- 
ble being heard or a complaint made. 

It was still more extraordinary that more or 
less severely wounded men should not be ar- 
dently desirous of the safety and comfort and 
feeding of the hospitals; and on the top of all 
was this mysterious message of a sap appar- 
ently being made by his men voluntarily and 
without any sanction, much less the usual re- 
quired pressure. 

A message came from Captain Conroy, in the 



A GENERAL ACTION 289 

forward trench, to say that Eiley was coming up 
to headquarters and would explain matters. 

Eiley and the explanation duly arrived. 
"Ould Prickles," inclined at first to be mightily 
wroth at the unauthorized digging of the sap, 
caught a twinkle in the Padre's eye ; and a mod- 
est hint from the Little Lad reminding him of 
the speed and excellence of the new trenches, 
construction turned the scale. He burst into a 
roar of laughter, and the Padre joined him 
heartily, while the Little Lad stood beaming 
and chuckling complacently. 

"I must tell the Brigadier this," gasped the 
O.C. at last. "He might have had a cross word 
or two to say about a sap being dug without or- 
ders, but, thank heaven, he's an Irishman, and 
a poorer joke would excuse a worse crime with 
him. But I'm wondering what's going to hap- 
pen when they reach their General and find no 
francs, and no watch, and not even a General; 
and mind you, Riley, the sap must be stopped at 
once. I can't be having good men casualtied 
on an unofficial job. Will you see to that right 
away?" 

The Little Lad's chuckling rose to open gig- 
gling. 

"It's stopped now, sir," he said — "just be- 
fore I came up here. And what's more, the 
General won't need explaining; the German 
gunners spied our sap, and, trying to drop a 



290 ACTION FEONT 

heavy shell on it — well, they dropped one on to 
the General. So now there isn 't a General, only 
a hole in the ground where he was." 

Ould Prickles' and the Padre's laughter bel- 
lowed again. 

"I must tell that to the Brigadier, too," said 
the O.C. ; "that finish to the joke will com- 
pletely satisfy him. ' ' 

"And I must go," said the Padre, rising, 
"and tell McRory, though I'm not just sure 
whether it will be after satisfying him quite so 
completely. ' ' 



AT LAST! 
"WHEN WE BEGIN TO PUSH" 

"Heke we are," said the Colonel, halting his 
horse. "Fine view one gets from here." 

"Rather a treat to be able to see over a bit 
of country again, after so many months of the 
flat," said the Adjutant, reining up beside the 
other. They were halted on the top of a hill, 
or, rather, the corner of an edge on a wide pla- 
teau. On two sides of them the ground fell 
away abruptly, the road they were on dipping 
sharply over the edge and sweeping round and 
downward in a well-graded slope along the face 
of the hill to the wide flats below. Over these 
flats they could see for many miles, miles of 
cultivated fields, of little woods, of gentle 
slopes. They could count the buildings of many 
farms, the roofs of half a dozen villages, the 
spires of twice as many churches, the tall chim- 
neys and gaunt frame towers of scattered pit- 
heads. It had been raining all day, but now in 
the late afternoon the clouds had broken and the 
light of the low sun was tinging the landscape 
with a mellow golden glow. 

291 



292 ACTION FRONT 

' ' There 's going to be a beautiful sunset pres- 
ently,' ' said the Colonel, "with all those heavy- 
broken clouds about. Let's dismount and wait 
for a bit." 

Both dismounted and handed their reins to 
the orderly, who, riding behind them, had halted 
when they did, but now at a sign came forward. 

"We'll just stroll to that rise on the left," 
the Colonel said. "The best view should be 
from there." 

The Adjutant lingered a moment. "Take 
their bits out, Trumpeter," he said, "and let 
them pick a mouthful of grass along the road- 
side." 

A rough country track ran to the left off the 
main road, and the two walked along it a couple 
of hundred yards to where it plunged over the 
crest and ran steeply down the hillside. An- 
other main road ran along the flat parallel with 
the hill foot, and along this crawled a long khaki 
column. 

"Look at the light on those hills over there," 
said the Colonel. "Fine, isn't it?" 

The Adjutant was busily engaged with the 
field-glasses he had taken from the case slung 
over his shoulder and was focusing them on the 
road below. 

"I say," he remarked suddenly, "those are 
the Canadians. I didn't know the — th Division 
was so far south. Moving up front, too." 



AT LAST! 293 

The Colonel dropped his gaze to the road a 
moment and then swept it slowly over the coun- 
try-side. "Yes," he said, "and this area is 
pretty well crowded with troops when you look 
closely." 

The light on the distant hills was growing 
more golden and beautiful, the clouds were be- 
ginning to catch the first tints of the sunset, but 
neither men for the moment noticed these 
things, searching with their gaze the landscape 
below, sifting it over and picking out a battery 
of artillery camped in a big chalk-pit by the 
roadside, the slow-rising and drifting columns 
of blue smoke that curled up from a distant 
wood and told of the regiment encamped there, 
the long strings of horses converging on a big 
mine building for the afternoon watering, the 
lines of transport wagons parked on the out- 
skirts of a village, the shifting khaki figures 
that stirred about every farm building in sight, 
the row of gray-painted motor-omnibuses, 
drawn up in a long line on a side road. The 
countryside that under a first look slept peace- 
fully in the afternoon sunlight, that drowsed 
calmly in the easy quiet of an uneventful field 
and farm existence, proved under the closer 
searching look to be a teeming hive of activity, 
a close-packed camp of well-armed fighting men, 
a widespread net and chain of men and guns 
and horses. The peaceful countryside was over- 



294 ACTION FRONT 

flowing with men and bristling with bayonets ; 
every village was a crammed-full military can- 
tonment, every barn stuffed with soldiers like 
an overfilled barracks. 

The Adjutant whistled softly. "This," he 
said, and nodded again and again to the plain 
below, "this looks like business — at last." 

"Yes," said the Colonel, "at last. It's going 
to be a very different story this time, when we 
begin to push things." 

"Hark at the guns," said the Adjutant, and 
both stood silent a moment listening to the long, 
deep, rolling thunder that boomed steady and 
unbroken as surf on a distant beach. "And 
they're our guns too, mostly," went on the Ad- 
jutant. "I suppose we're firing more shells in 
an ordinary trench-war-routine day now than 
we dared fire in a month this time last year. 
Last year we were short of shells, the year be- 
fore we were short of guns and shells and men. 
Now hear the guns and look down there at a few 
of the men. ' ' 

Through the still air rose from below them 
the shrill crow of a farmyard rooster, the placid 
mooing of a cow, the calls and laughter of some 
romping children. 

But the two on the hillside had no ear for 
these sounds of peace. They heard only that 
distant sullen boom of the rumbling guns, the 
throbbing foot-beats of the marching battalions 



AT LAST! 295 

below them, the plop-plopping hoofs and rat- 
tling wheels of wagons passing on their way up 
to the firing line with food for the guns. 

"Our turn coming, 7 ' said the Adjutant — "at 
last." 

' ' Yes, ' ' the Colonel said, and repeated grimly 
—"at last." 



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